


Stirring In Love

by andthenshesaid-write (ladyknight1512)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Baking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Phandom Big Bang, Phandom Big Bang 2016, Rivalry, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 71,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyknight1512/pseuds/andthenshesaid-write
Summary: When Phil applied to be a contestant on the Great British Bake Off he didn't even expect to make the long-list, let alone make it into the actual tent. But make it he does and there he meets Dan, a baker unlike Phil in every possible way. After a rocky start, Phil realises that maybe he can learn some things from Dan after all, and the biggest things have nothing to do with baking.This fic was nominated for the Phanfic Awards 2016 Best of the Best!





	1. Week One - Cakes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for the Phandom Big Bang 2016. I've been writing it since July and I can't believe it's finally done. It was a beast and I'm so relieved that it's out in the world for other people to experience. I recommend you get comfy and stock up on snacks before settling in to read. If nothing else, this fic will make you hungry.
> 
> Thanks to all the PBB mods, in particular Kirsty, who tirelessly answered all my questions and reassured me when I convinced myself that I would be disqualified on some non-existant technicality.
> 
> Extra special thanks to Julia (@ineverhadmyinternetphase), my beta, who is awesome and the best person I could have been paired with for this wild baking ride. She was a cheerleader and a reassurance to me when I thought the whole thing was awful. Her enthusiasm and comments throughout the writing of this really kept me going. The fact that I finished the fic at all is a testament to her.
> 
> Finally, a note about the recipes featured in this fic: many were lifted directly from various seasons of the Great British and Australian Bake Off series'. These are all credited, with links to the recipes, at the end of each chapter. Enjoy.

The tent was bigger than it looked on TV, Phil thought, as their group of 12 filed inside. Again. Filed in again. They'd done it three times already but the first couple of times, people had looked directly into the cameras and then Phil himself had tripped over someone...or his own feet...or the air.

They made it to their stations – that was something they had to practise; now Phil knew why no two people on TV ever try to go for the same bench – and the director called cut. He was happy and sent someone to collect Mary and Paul, and Mel and Sue.

Which left the contestants with nothing to do but wait. Phil had heard this about TV – there was a lot of waiting. He glanced around. They were an even split that year – six men and six women. Some were stoic and straight-faced, others were smiling and chatting with their neighbours. There was one guy dressed all in black, as tall as Phil, if not taller, on the other side of the tent, at the back, who was tapping the bench with his hands.

Phil’s stomach felt like it was tying itself into knots. Standing in that tent, surrounded by a pack of strangers, he suddenly felt a very long way from home. The bench in front of him was nothing like his own kitchen, the one in his parents’ house, which he’d been baking in for as long as he could remember. It was decked out with brand new, gleaming appliances and utensils; his ingredients were all laid out much more neatly than he’d ever seen them before.

“Hi!” said a voice, and Phil turned to the blonde-haired woman behind him. “I'm Louise!”

“Hi,” he replied, reflexively. “I'm Phil.”

“Did you have to come a long way to get here?”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m from the north–”

“Wow,” she said. “That is a long way. You came on the train, I suppose? I don't think I could sit on the train for that long. Or maybe I would, if I knew I were coming here, to the _Great British Bake Off!_ ” She whispered the last bit, as if it were a secret.

Phil’s stomach flipped. Louise, with her 100 watt smile, had managed to distract him from his nerves but now they returned full force.

He’d never expected to make it this far. He’d never expected to even be considered. Applying had been a joke, something Martyn had egged him into doing, because he was between jobs and had nothing better to do. No one had ever thought he’d actually make it through.

But he had made it through. He was there, in the Bake Off tent. He heard an assistant say that the judges and hosts were coming and the bakers all stopped talking and straightened. There was no going back now; whether he liked it or not, it was starting and he was about to bake for his life.

“Good morning, bakers!” Sue called, and they all chorused back.

“Welcome to the Great British Bake Off”, said Mel. “Over the next ten weeks, you'll be put through your paces with cakes, pies, tarts, breads and a multitude of other things that we can guarantee no one but our esteemed judges will have ever heard of.” She swept a hand towards Mary and Paul, and the bakers tittered nervously. “At the end of those ten weeks, one of you will be named Britain's best amateur baker.”

“So let's get this show on the road – if only because I'm hungry and I'm counting on you lot to feed me scraps.”

“Your first challenge is the signature challenge. This challenge requires you to produce a bake that shows us who you are as bakers. For your first signature bake, we would like you, please, to bake an upside down cake. It can be any sponge and any flavour but when it goes into the oven, the topping must be on the bottom and then turned upright when it comes out. You have one and a half hours.”

“How hard could it be?” Sue asked with a grin. “On your marks!”

“Get set!”

“Bake!” Mel and Sue shouted together.

The flurry of activity was so sudden, Phil was caught by surprise. Everyone was reaching for ingredients and utensils, while Phil was still staring around the tent. He grabbed the flour and instantly knocked it over so that a flood of it spilled out across the bench.

“Nervous, Phil?” asked one of the producers, because of course there happened to be a camera right next to him.

He grimaced and figured there was no harm in telling the truth. “Yeah, but I'm also really clumsy, which is never good in a kitchen. It's a wonder I haven't dropped a knife on my foot before now.” His mother's horrified face flashed into his mind and he knocked on the bench hastily. “Touch wood!”

The camera crew moved onto their next victim and Phil almost rolled his eyes at himself. He was going to end up being the weird one, he just knew it. There was one in every season, one baker who had strange habits and used really weird ingredients, but wasn't quite good enough to be called experimental or eccentric – just weird.

He had to focus and get a move on with his cake. One and a half hours probably wasn’t so bad, for a cake, but Phil knew that everyone was going to be pulling out all the stops to impress the judges for the first challenge. This bake had the potential to set them up for the whole rest of the competition – they had to get it right.

It was hard not to be distracted by what the other bakers were doing, even as he measured out his ingredients and got them mixing. Everyone was baking something different and everyone seemed to be working differently. The youngest baker in the tent – Chloe, Phil thought her name was – was almost as messy as Phil himself. The tall guy in the back, on the other hand, was as regimented and organised as Phil had ever seen, with everything neatly lined up and stacked; he was weighing and measuring absolutely everything. It seemed like a soulless, clinical way to bake as far as Phil was concerned. How could you bake if you weren’t feeling it so much that half the ingredients ended up all over you and the benchtop?

Mary and Paul, accompanied by either Mel or Sue, visited every baker during the signature challenge. Phil had seen the show, he knew that this would be happening, but even still, his heart was in his throat when they approached him. Mary folded her hands delicately on the edge of his bench and smiled up at him kindly, Paul braced his weight on his hands beside her and Sue poked around in his ingredients.

“Good morning, Phil,” Sue said. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Phil smiled and set his spoon down on the bench so that they wouldn’t notice his shaky hands. “Nervous, I guess. I can’t believe I’m actually here, baking for you.”

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Mary said, which was all well and good for her to say – she was Mary Berry. “We’re just looking forward to tasting some good bakes”.

“What are you making for us this morning?” Paul asked, and Phil forced himself to look him in the face.

Phil had seen the Masterclass episodes, probably just like everyone else in the tent. He knew full well that Paul was perfectly nice and seemed very kind, and behaved a lot like a really big kid when he was baking with Mary...but standing across a bench from him in the Bake Off tent, Phil had never been more terrified in his life. There was something steely in his eyes, something that said he expected the best. Phil wasn’t convinced that his bakes could measure up to that sort of scrutiny.

Phil cleared his throat and said, “I’m making a pineapple upside-down cake with maple syrup custard sauce.”

“That’s an interesting choice,” Mary said. “Why pineapple?”

Speaking to Mary was a bit like speaking to his grandma, so it was easier to answer her questions than it was to answer Paul’s.

“I just really like tropical flavours. And sweet things.”

“Pineapple can be very sweet,” Paul said. “Are you worried about that?”

“The recipe is sugar-free,” Phil said and saw their surprise. “It uses some agave nectar to help bring out the natural sweetness of the pineapple, but that’s all.”

“It’s the first week of the competition,” said Sue, leaning in, “and you’re making a sugar-free cake?”

He was quiet for a moment, trying to figure out if this was a trick question, and then said, “Yes?”

“Right,” said Sue. “Just clarifying.”

“We’ll be interested in seeing how this turns out,” Paul said. “Good luck.”

And then they walked off to speak to someone else and left Phil standing there with a cake mixture that needed to get into the oven. He shook his head clear and lay the pineapple rings down at the bottom of the rectangular baking tin – there was enough room to neatly fit eight, in two rows of four – then, he poured the cake batter over the top and smoothed out the surface. With the cake in the oven, he could breathe easier. Whatever happened now, at least he would have something cooked.

He was taking a risk not using sugar in this cake – his mum had said as much when they’d been trying to figure out recipes for his time in the competition – but that seemed to him like the best thing to do. After all, if he was going to have a proper crack at winning this thing, he needed to set himself apart somehow. What better way than a sugar-free cake as his first bake?

The cake needed forty minutes to cook, so he was making good time, but it wouldn’t hurt to get started on his custard while he was waiting. He so did not want to be one of those bakers sitting in front of his oven, so if he could distract himself, all the better.

He needed a new spoon, so he crossed the tent to the drawers at the back that housed the spare utensils. He ended up just behind the tall guy in black, who was just about to be interrogated by the judges.

“Hello, Dan,” Sue said.

Dan. That was his name.

“Hi!” Dan didn’t sound nervous at all – was he really that confident?

“What cake are you making for us today?” Mary asked.

“Today I’m doing a pear and amaretto upside-down cake.”

“Ohhhh!” said Mary. “That sounds delicious.”

Pear and amaretto? Phil’s mouth pursed. What kind of pretentious cake was that?

Dan laughed and he sounded so at ease that Phil wanted to turn around and check if he was actually real.

“I hope it is,” Dan said. “It’s been a hit with my family so I’m hoping you like it as well.”

“What’s the most challenging part of your bake today?” Paul asked.

“Getting the syrup right. It has to be the right consistency. If it’s too runny, it forms little pools in the cored pears, and no one wants that.”

“Sounds like you have everything well in hand,” Mary said. “We’ll leave you to it.”

They moved off and a moment later, Dan said, “Having fun eavesdropping?”

Phil spun around to find Dan standing a few feet away, arms folded across his chest. “I wasn’t eavesdropping!”

Dan raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? Because you were standing there an awfully long time. But it’s fine. I get it. Pear and amaretto isn’t a combination you come across every day.”

“I’m not interested in your pear and amaretto anything. I just needed a spoon.” He grabbed one from the drawer behind him and marched back to his bench. Of course, when he got there he realised that the spoon he’d grabbed wasn’t the one he needed, but he wasn’t going to go back over there and admit it – he would make it work.

He plonked a pan on the stovetop to get started on his custard. There was something about Dan – something off-putting. He seemed smug and too sure of himself, cocky even, as if he was so convinced of his own superiority that he had already decided Phil wasn’t worth his notice. Well, fine then. Phil would show him.

His cake was a beautiful golden brown when it came out of the oven. Well, the bottom was, so it was a shame no one would get to see it. He let the cake cool in its tin for five minutes before he grabbed the serving plate he was going to flip it onto. Bree, the young woman stationed in front of him, had been the first one to flip her cake and it had been a bit of a disaster – she had pulled the tin off to find that the whole cake had split down the middle and was now trying to find some way of patching it up.

A camera appeared at the side of Phil’s bench just as he fitted the plate to the bottom of the cake and grabbed the sides to flip it. He could feel the camera on him, like a giant eye that he couldn’t escape. Maybe he would become more used to them as the competition wore on – assuming he even made it past the first week – but, for now, he had to keep reminding himself to not pay them any attention.

He took a deep breath and flipped, then sucked in a gasp as the whole thing wobbled around on the plate. He lowered it gingerly to the bench and the tension in him eased. When he pulled the tin and baking paper away, he couldn’t help but smile at the perfect circles of pineapple forming the top of the cake. He glazed the top with more agave syrup and poured his custard into a pouring jug he’d borrowed from his mum and then stood back and looked around the tent.

“Alright, Phil?” Mel asked as she wandered by. 

“I’m finished,” he whispered, as if he was worried he might have done something wrong. Maybe he had. After all, there was still almost half an hour before the challenge was over, and everyone else was making cream and icing and chocolate decorations.

Mel clearly understood his dilemma but she looked over his cake and said, “It looks delicious.”

“But what if it’s too simple?”

“Would you add anything else if you were making it at home?”

He shook his head.

“Then just trust your instincts. If you think it’s finished, then it’s finished.”

She moved off to speak to Bree and Phil was left staring down at his cake. Trust his instincts. How could he do that if he was in this completely alien situation? What if his instincts crumbled under the pressure?

Time was running out to make a decision but he knew with a sudden certainty that he wasn’t going to add anything to this cake. After all, it was an upside-down cake. The whole point was that the top was beautiful and attractive on its own. He’d made a custard and he wasn’t going to add any extra cream, so it was best to just leave it alone. He took a seat on the stool at his bench and sat on his hands to keep them from fiddling with everything in sight.

Phil’s attention was caught by Dan, across the tent. He flipped his cake neatly and lowered it gently to the bench, where he pulled off the tin and unwrapped the cake. Phil couldn’t see very much from where he was sitting, but what he could see looked delicious. The cake was a dark brown, the pears were attractively arranged, and the glaze was the colour and consistency of caramel. Phil huffed and forced his attention to Louise’s orange and star anise cake instead.

Finally, from somewhere around the tent, Sue yelled, “One minute, bakers! If you haven’t already, it’s time to turn those cakes upside-down! Or right-side-up, depending on how you look at it.”

There was a scramble as all the other bakers put their finishing touches in place – only Dan stayed calm and collected, and was finished well before Sue said, “Time’s up! Please move your cakes to the ends of your benches!”

Phil’s palms started sweating almost as soon as Mary, Paul and Sue started making the rounds for judging. They stopped at each bench, spoke to the baker, tasted the cake, judged it and moved on. By the time they arrived at Phil’s bench, his fingers were sore from twisting themselves around each other so much. He swallowed hard, sure that he was going to projectile vomit all over them. Baking for Mary and Paul was one thing; having them actually judge his bakes was another. What if they hated it?

“That looks very appealing,” said Mary, looking over Phil’s cake. “The way you’ve arranged the pineapple is very attractive.”

“It’s very simple,” said Paul, “but it works. You haven’t overdone the cake. I just hope it tastes as good as it looks, especially as you’ve made things doubly hard by not using sugar.”

Paul cut a square slice out of the cake and set it on the plate in front of them. Mary and Paul each speared a piece, taking care to get some cake as well as some pineapple, and chewed thoughtfully.

“That cake is delicious,” Paul said, wiping some crumbs from around his mouth.

“It’s perfectly baked,” Mary said. “The cake is flavourful and just sweet enough. I can’t believe you didn’t use sugar.”

“The pineapple adds just enough bite but not so much that you have to work through it.” Paul smiled up at him. “I’m impressed, Phil. Congratulations. You’re off to a strong start.”

Phil was feeling faint by the time they stepped away, and tried to be subtle in the way he propped himself up against his bench. They had liked it. No. They had loved it. His sugar-free pineapple upside-down cake had been a success! All he wanted to do was jump around the tent and then call his mum...but that would have to wait. There was still the other judging to get through.

Mary and Paul were even more impressed with Louise’s cake than they had been with Phil’s. But that was fine. Louise had worked hard and her cake looked delicious – Phil couldn’t wait to try some.

Dan was judged last and, by the time they arrived at his bench, Phil wasn’t sure how Mary and Paul were keeping it up. Sure, it was only a bite at each station, but that was still twelve bites of cake – and some of them hadn’t been a success, like Bree’s cake, which had been dry and dense.

“Pear and amaretto,” Mary said. “I’ve been looking forward to this one.”

“It looks great,” said Paul. “The way you’ve arranged the pears is very professional, and the colour is fantastic.”

They cut a slice of cake and tasted it.

Mary hummed appreciatively. “It’s delicious. The balance of flavours is exactly right. The caramelisation on top brings a lingering flavour.”

“The pears are perfectly cooked,” Paul said. “Not too hard and not too soft. And you’ve managed to bring a sweetness out of them, too, which is great. Pears tend to not have much flavour. Really well done, Dan.”

Dan’s smile was small but pleased as the judges walked away from his bench. Phil wasn’t sure why his reaction was so subdued. Dan had clearly baked an excellent cake and he was one of the bakers at the front of the pack. Shouldn’t he have been grinning and excited?

They broke for lunch. Mary, Paul, Mel and Sue were ushered away and the bakers were left on the grounds outside the tent, with some of the production assistants to supervise them. At least it was sunny and warm, and the spread of food was good.

Phil stuck to Louise’s side as she mingled. She had an ease with people that Phil had always lacked so at least this was a way of socialising with the other bakers without having to throw himself completely out of his comfort zone. Many of the bakers seemed to have congregated in little groups and, together, Louise and Phil made their way around to each to properly introduce themselves.

First there was Anne, a grandmother in her 60s who was the oldest in the competition that year; Adelina, who had migrated from Spain twenty years ago and stayed in the country when she met her husband; and Henry, a stay-at-home-dad from Brighton.

Effortlessly cool IT consultant Mikayla had attached herself to Omar, a teacher, and Rory, a bricklayer.

Chloe, at just 17 the youngest in the competition, and Bree, a yoga instructor from London, had formed a pair. 

Then there was Louise, who was just a couple of years older than Phil himself, and had a daughter named Darcy. As it turned out, Dan was possibly the only person on the planet more antisocial than Phil – he had settled himself on the outskirts of the group and everything about his body language, from his ducked head to his knees turned slightly away, said that he didn’t want to be approached.

“Anne told me earlier that he’s a law student,” Louise said, when she caught Phil looking over at him. “And he doesn’t live too far from here, when he’s not at uni. But that’s as much as anyone has gotten from him.”

Lunch was enough to banish any lingering nerves, but they returned full force when Phil was back at his station and tying his apron back on. He eyed the ingredients on his bench hidden under a red gingham tea towel and wished that he could see something that hinted at the challenge he was about to face.

Mary, Paul, Mel and Sue stepped back into the tent and looked around at everyone.

“Bakers,” said Mel, “welcome to the fearsome technical challenge. Each week you will be set a recipe you have never seen before, devised by one of our esteemed judges. This week, the recipe is a Mary Berry classic.”

“The technical challenge is judged blind,” said Sue, and turned to Mary and Paul, “so if you two would just nip off it would be much appreciated. We’ll let you back in later.”

Everyone watched Mary and Paul leave the tent, then Mel turned back to the bakers with a smile. “For your first technical challenge, Mary and Paul would like you, please, to bake an Angel Food Cake. This cake uses egg whites and no fat, so it’s as light as the clouds those angels are sitting on.”

“You have two and a half hours to bake this cake. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Phil yanked the tea towel off his ingredients and pulled open the utensil drawer – the laminated recipe was sitting on top. He was itching to get started right away but he forced himself to read the whole recipe through carefully before he did anything. He didn’t want to assume something only to have it come back to bite him in the butt later on, especially as he had never made a cake like this before.

Once he thought he understood the recipe, he got started by sifting his flour and sugar, then he separated his eggs. He needed to whisk together ten egg whites for the cake, and then the ten yolks would go into the lemon curd being drizzled over the cake. The egg whites were the key to this cake. Under-whisking wouldn’t get enough air into the batter and would prevent a good rise, but over-whisking would make the whites too stiff. Once he had the egg whites at the consistency he wanted them, he started folding in the flour, one third at a time.

From behind her, Phil couldn’t help but notice that Bree was already having a difficult time. He wanted to point out that she shouldn’t have tried to mix in all her flour at once, but it was too late now. She had already done it and she was struggling to get all the flour combined without knocking all the air out of the egg whites.

The first problem came when Phil was about to pour his cake batter into the tin. Just as he was about to tip the bowl, he hesitated and glanced back at the recipe, mostly covered in flour, beside him.

There was nothing in the recipe that said he should grease the tin. Which might not have meant anything...except that this was a technical challenge, and Phil knew that part of the challenge was that key steps were left out of the recipe, to test the bakers’ instincts. Surely greasing a tin wouldn’t warrant being left out for that reason? Or maybe it would, because greasing a tin was such a basic element of every bake. Would Mary and Paul expect them to grease the tin anyway, because that’s what they would always do? Or would they expect the recipe to be followed, even though the bakers thought it might be wrong?

Phil sighed and rubbed a temple. This thinking in circles was giving him a headache, and he couldn’t stand there trying to reason it out all day. So, he settled for a compromise, and greased the tin as lightly as he dared.

With the cake in the oven, he moved on to making his lemon curd. Thankfully, he had been making lemon curd for years, ever since he had realised that making it was a lot easier than it sounded. It was nice to be making something that came naturally to him, after almost a whole day feeling completely out of his depth.

He checked the cake after half an hour, found it was still wet inside and gave it another fifteen minutes. The recipe said that the cake had to cool upside down, which explained the weird legs that the tin had, so, wondering what would stop the cake just falling out of the tin completely, Phil turned the tin over and stood it on its legs. His breath caught when he felt the cake slip down the tin a bit, but it held. Not all the bakers were so lucky. Bree and Omar turned their tins upside down and had their cakes immediately fall onto the cooling rack beneath. Others, including Louise, Dan and Anne, were much more confident as they turned their tins and apparently weren’t worried at all about their cakes falling out.

There was nothing in the recipe about how long to leave the cakes in the tins for, but Phil bit the bullet and took it out when Mel called out that there were forty-five minutes left to go. The cake was still a bit warm – probably residual heat from the tin – but he could leave it to cool on the wire rack while he made the cream topping. He tried to take his time smoothing the cream over the cake, but it went against all his instincts when someone was saying that there were only ten minutes to go.

He finished getting the cream on with two minutes to go, and reached for the passionfruit sitting on the bench – the last of his ingredients. He scooped out the seeds and mixed them into the lemon curd, and then drizzled the curd over the top of the cake. He put down his spoon just as Sue called time.

Phil’s cake didn’t look as nice as Louise’s, which was tall and well-finished, but it certainly looked better than Bree’s, which was squat.

“Bakers, please bring your bakes up to the judging table and place them behind the photo of yourself.” Mel swept her arm out to the tables that had been set up at the front of the tent, and dressed with red gingham tablecloths.

The bakers did as she had asked and then sat themselves on the row of stools the production team had brought to the centre of the tent. When Mary and Paul entered the tent and looked over the selection of cakes, Phil didn’t feel ready. To make things worse, Phil’s cake was last in line for judging, so he had to sit through eleven other tastings before they even came to his.

Most of the bakers did reasonably well, including Dan, Mikayla and Anne. Louise’s cake impressed the judges with the rise it had achieved. Bree, Omar and Rory were on the bottom end of the scale with problems such as egg whites not being whisked enough and air pockets in the cake. Finally, it was Phil’s turn.

“This one doesn’t look too bad,” Paul said. “It’s not as tall as a couple of the others, but it’s still got a good height to it.”

“The finish looks a bit rushed,” Mary said as she waited for Paul to cut a slice and move it onto the plate. “But the cake itself looks quite good. It’s light and fluffy.”

They tasted some of the cake and Paul nodded. “It’s a good cake. Tastes great. The lemon curd is excellent. It just lacks some height.”

Not such a bad judgement then, Phil thought, as they waited for Mary and Paul to rank the bakes. He hadn’t been the best, but definitely wasn’t in the danger zone.

Unfortunately, Bree came in last place, which didn’t seem to surprise her at all. Dan placed fifth, Phil fourth and Louise came first.

“Congratulations,” Phil said to her, as they were leaving the tent. “You’re off to a good start.”

She giggled and couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “Thanks. You didn’t do so badly yourself, you know.”

He shrugged. “I’ll be happy if I just make it through the first week. No one wants to be the first one to be eliminated.”

“Well, you’re halfway there. Can you believe we’ve already survived the first day? And it was fun!”

“Fun?” Phil laughed. “I think I aged about ten years in that tent today.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about anything on that front, do you, with that baby face?” She winked and then laughed when he rolled his eyes.

*** * ***

Despite his inability to shut off his brain and being in a hotel bed, Phil had fallen asleep quickly the night before and slept well through the night. Clearly the tension of the day had taken its toll on him. It had done him good, though, because he was ready and raring to go. With two challenges under his belt, the beginning hints of confidence were rising in him. He had performed well the day before so, assuming there were no disasters today, he was in a good position to make it to Week 2. He knew better than to say any of that out loud, though; he’d seen enough of the show to know the bakers jinxed themselves the minute they voiced any kind of confidence in their abilities.

“Good morning, bakers,” said Mel, once she, Sue, Mary and Paul had taken their places at the front of the tent. “Welcome to your first ever showstopper challenge.”

“The showstopper is the bake to end all bakes. We want big, we want bold, we want something more delicious than you can even begin to imagine.”

“This week, Mary and Paul would like you, please, to make a hidden design cake. That is, a cake that, when you cut into it, reveals a hidden pattern or picture inside. The cake can be any flavour or design you want but the design must be recognisable. You’ve got three and a half hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Phil had wracked his brain long and hard to decide on a hidden design for his cake. He had been tempted to make a cake with a Pikachu inside, but then Martyn had asked him if he really want to be known as the guy who made a Pokemon cake on national TV, and that idea had died pretty fast after that. Still, he thought he had decided on the next best thing.

“A panda?” Sue repeated, when she and the judges stopped to check up on him.

“Yeah. I love pandas. They’re just about the cutest animals ever, apart from dogs, but the black and white of the panda makes it more striking in the cake.”

Mary and Paul obviously didn’t know what to make of that, given the stunned silence emanating from them, but then Paul cleared his throat and said, “So what flavour is this cake going to be?”

“The panda will just be vanilla, but the rest of the cake is going to be strawberry flavoured. For some reason, when I thought about it, pandas and strawberries just seemed to go together.”

“And have you thought about how you’re going to decorate the cake?” Mary asked.

Phil nodded. “I’m going to paint a bamboo forest around the outside and make little pandas out of marzipan, to sit around the cake.”

“We’d better leave you to it then,” Sue said. “Good luck, Phil.”

Phil was pleased when they left to speak to Louise. Sure, they had been surprised by the panda idea, but at least it was original. He had managed to overhear that Dan was making a chocolate and mint checkerboard cake, which almost wasn’t a challenge at all, as far as Phil was concerned. Something so regimented was a lot easier than figuring out how to create a panda out of cake, inside another cake.

He had to make two different cake mixtures for his panda cake: the first would be the strawberry-flavoured outer cake, and the second would be the vanilla batter that he would divide in half to dye black and white. The cakes weren’t the hard part – at the end of the day, they were just cakes that he could probably bake in his sleep. No, the hard part was the assembly. He had spent days trying to figure out how to get the panda inside the cake without it all falling to pieces when he cut into it.

The key was to bake the panda as one complete cake. In a rectangular tin, he filled the bottom third with some of the white mixture and then piped thick black lines down the length for the mouth, nose, eyes and ears. He filled in the gaps with more white mixture and then put the whole thing in the oven. The strawberry cake, which he had made first, was already in and baking, so that it would have enough time to cool before he had to cut out the centre to fit the panda cake inside.

While he waited for his cakes to bake, he got to work on his marzipan pandas. He rolled out bodies and heads, and then shaped little ears, arms and legs, which he stuck on. Even with the details painted on, they looked a bit lopsided and weird, but Phil liked that. They were cute and they looked like something he would make at home.

“You know that fat one on the end has a massive thumbprint in it, right?”

Phil’s head snapped up to find Dan paused at the end of his bench, a large saucepan in hand – Phil hadn’t even heard him approach. Despite himself, he glanced down at the panda on the end of the bench closest to Dan and saw that, yes, a dent the size and shape of his thumb was stuck in the back of its head.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back up at Dan, “I knew that.”

Dan raised an eyebrow. “Really? And you’re just going to leave it like that?”

“It adds character!”

“This is the Great British Bake Off. I don’t think that’s the sort of character they’re looking for.”

“Better a thumbprint to show I’m human than to be a robot obsessed with everything being absolutely perfect and symmetrical.”

Dan’s mouth tightened but he just raised his hands in surrender and stepped away. “Fine. Have it your way.”

After he’d gone, Louise piped up, “You know, I think he was just trying to be helpful, Phil.”

Phil shrugged nonchalantly. “I can manage.”

A voice in the back of his head told him that he was being petty, but Phil brushed it aside and focused his attention back on his pandas. By the time he had the strawberry cake out of the oven, he had a (mostly) neat row of little pandas along his bench, including one with a thumbprint in it. Personally, that one was his favourite – he named it Walter.

With his strawberry cake cooling, he moved onto his strawberry buttercream icing, which he dyed a delicate pink, and then got his panda cake out of the oven to cool as well. It was a funny looking thing, but it was cute and it definitely looked like a panda, so now he just had to hope that he could get it all assembled and decorated in time. There was an hour to go but he had already learnt that, in the tent, an hour could pass by in just a moment.

He tested the temperature of his strawberry cake with the palm of his hand and judged it cool enough to start cutting. He began by taking a thick layer off the top of the cake, which he set aside. Then, being careful to get the size right, he dug a rectangular trough out of the cake that was left, leaving walls at the front and back. He lowered the panda cake into the trough. It was a snug fit, but that was better than having to fill in gaps with loose cake, as Omar was doing on the other side of the tent. Once the panda was in, he took the layer of cake he had put aside earlier and cut out shapes down the length to fit the ears, then sat it on top of the panda like a lid. From the outside, there was no hint of the design inside whatsoever.

All told, putting the pieces of the cake together took almost half an hour, so he had to scramble to do his decorations. He slathered on the buttercream and smoothed it out as much as he could, before he took up his paintbrush and got started on the bamboo forest around the outside.When Sue called out that they only had one minute left, he dropped the brush and hastily arranged the marzipan pandas over and around the cake. He got the last one on just in time.

“Phew!” He wiped the back of one hand across his forehead and turned to Louise, who looked a bit deranged, with her hair escaping from its ponytail in wisps.

“That was crazy!” she said through a laugh. 

Phil couldn’t help but agree. He couldn’t imagine that anything about this situation would come to be normal, but if he stuck around long enough maybe it would.

Bree was called up for judging first and it wasn’t a good start. Her British flag cake was dry and bland, and Mary thought the outside lacked decoration. Omar’s cake was similarly disappointing; all the loose cake he’d used to the fill the gaps around his design crumbled onto the cake stand when Paul cut a slice out of it.

Then it was Dan’s turn.

It didn’t look so impressive from the outside. Dan had covered the whole cake in chocolate icing, and piped around the bottom and the top edge. He had also made tempered chocolate squares, which he had stuck around the cake in a checkerboard pattern.

“The chocolate is tempered really well,” Paul said, pulling one of the squares off the outside and snapping it in two. “The icing has a great consistency.”

“The piping is very neat as well,” said Mary. “A little attention to detail can go a long way. Shall we have a look inside?”

“It should be a brown and green checkerboard pattern,” Dan said, standing tall with his hands behind his back.

Paul cut the cake clean down the middle and pulled one half away; Mary leaned in to see what was inside.

“It definitely worked!” she said, and the bakers craned their necks to get a glimpse of it.

Mary and Paul tasted the cake and Phil wondered how many weeks it would take before he got bored of watching them chew with those thoughtful looks on their faces.

“The chocolate cake has probably been left in the oven a bit too long,” Mary said. “It’s a bit dry but it tastes good.”

“Mint and chocolate is a classic combination,” Paul said. “You’ve got the balance here exactly right. It can be easy for one flavour to overwhelm the other. Overall, a good bake. Thanks, Dan.”

It was hard to tell how Dan felt as he returned to his bench. His face was carefully blank, but given the underwhelming reaction he’d had when he did well in the signature, maybe he wasn’t so disappointed with the judgement at all.

Louise was called up not long after Dan, and the judges loved her jaffa cake-inspired hidden shoe cake. It was deceptively simple from the outside but, after the judges’ reactions, Phil couldn’t wait to sample it.

After Louise had sat down, Mel said, “Phil, would you like to bring your bake up?”

What would happen if he said “No”, he wondered, as he took his cake up to the table at the front of the tent, and set it down in front of Mary and Paul.

“The pandas are very cute,” Mary said, and Phil smiled.

“This one has a thumbprint in its head,” Paul said, pointing to Walter, and the smile dropped off Phil’s face – he could almost feel Dan’s eyes burning a hole in his back. “They’re not really consistent either, some are larger than others. But they’re a nice feature. They would look great on a child’s birthday cake.”

“So this is strawberry, isn’t it?” Mary asked, as Paul stuck his knife into the centre of the cake.

“That’s right. And there’s a panda inside.”

Paul looked skeptical, but then he pulled half the cake away.

“Oh my god, that is a panda!” Sue said, and everyone laughed.

Phil beamed. It had actually worked. On the plate in front of Paul was a cake with a panda head floating in a sea of strawberry cake.

“That is extremely impressive,” Mary said. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Paul poked gently at the panda design and shook his head. “It’s all one solid piece. That’s very clever, baking it that way. It prevents it all falling apart. Shall we try some, Mary?”

She nodded and they each speared some cake on their forks, trying both the strawberry cake and the panda design.

“It’s deliciously moist,” Mary said. “The strawberry flavour is really coming through.”

“The buttercream could have been a bit neater,” Paul said, “but it tastes excellent and it looks fantastic. You should be proud of that. Well done, Phil.”

Phil almost didn’t believe he’d survived the judging until he was back at his bench, with his cut-in-half cake in front of him. The panda had worked! They had actually liked it! It was some kind of baking miracle.

The rest of the judging passed by in a blur. Phil was still too excited by his own success to pay much attention to how the other bakers fared, and he already knew how Louise had done.

After all the bakes had been tasted, Mary and Paul left the tent to deliberate and the bakers sat on their stools in the middle of the tent while they waited for them to come back with the results. Phil sat near the end of the row, with Louise on one side of him and Bree on the other. Dan was sitting on the first stool, at the other end of the row.

Looking down the line, Phil couldn’t believe that, in nine weeks, they would be whittled down to just three. Which of them would have what it took to make it to the final? Better yet, which of them had what it took to win? Already, he could see strengths emerging. Louise was clearly a strong competitor, and Anne and Rory had performed reasonably well today. He could also begrudgingly admit that Dan was also highly skilled, even if he had slightly overbaked his chocolate cake.

Soon, one of the producers called for their attention and they all quietened down to film Mary, Paul, Mel and Sue entering the tent. When they had lined up in front of the bakers, Sue smiled and said, “Every week, we will award ‘Star Baker’ to the person who has produced the best bakes of the weekend. This week, the happy task falls to me. This week’s star baker came on strong with bold flavours and stunning presentation. Congratulations, Louise, you are star baker.”

Louise gasped and clasped her hands over her mouth. Phil laughed and joined in with the rest of the bakers to applaud her win. He couldn’t say he was surprised. Louise had nailed every challenge set for them that week, but it was nice to think that he might have been in the running for the award himself.

When the applause had died away, Mel smiled grimly and said, “Unfortunately, we can’t take everyone with us into next week. We hate this bit so we alternate the job, especially because you’re all so lovely. It’s always hard being the first to go but we’re very sorry to say goodbye to…”

There was a tense silence blanketing the tent. If there was noise outside, Phil couldn’t hear it anymore. It was like they had been sucked into a vacuum. Even though Phil knew that he wasn’t in danger, a pit opened up in the bottom of his stomach and his palms began to sweat. What if he had completely miscalculated and everyone else in the tent had done so much better than him and they had no choice but to send him home? Maybe this whole thing had started out as a joke, but now that he’d had a taste of it, Phil wanted more. Plus, how could he bear the shame of being the first one to be eliminated? He would be that baker who came back for the final and no one recognised him because they’d only seen him once and he had been gone so long.

“Bree. I’m so sorry, my dear.”

The breath he didn’t even know he was holding rushed out of him in a gush. Beside him, Bree looked disappointed but understanding. She hopped off her stool and accepted the hugs of Mel and Sue, and then all the other bakers stood up to hug her too. If felt strange to be hugging her goodbye when he’d barely spoken five words to her all weekend, but they had still been part of this experience together, and Phil was more saddened by the lost opportunity to know her than anything else. After all, Bree could have been the person to change his life. But, of course, if that were true, she probably wouldn’t have been eliminated. Fate probably would have figured that out.

“How are you feeling, Phil?” Louise asked, when she popped back up beside him after speaking to Paul.

He shrugged. “Stunned, actually. I can’t believe the first week is over and that I actually made it through to the next round.”

“I know what you mean. But I’m looking forward to it. This is going to be the experience of a lifetime so I’m going to do everything I can to stick around as long as possible.”

Phil nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Here’s hoping they go easy on us.”

Louise laughed. “Go easy on us? Phil, haven’t you seen the show at all? The next nine weeks are going to be baking hell.”

“We’d better get practicing then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned at the beginning, all bakes that have actually appeared on the show will be credited at the end of each chapter. Any Dan and Phil bakes that aren’t credited, I have probably made up.
> 
> Phil’s signature: [ Pineapple upside-down cake](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/pineapple_upside-down_82924) (Alvin’s recipe, Season 6)  
> Dan’s signature: [ Pear and amaretto upside-down cake](http://www.lifestylefood.com.au/recipes/25817/pear-and-amaretto-upside-down-cake) (Matt Moran’s recipe, The Great Australian Bake Off)  
> Technical: [ Angel food cake](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/angel_food_cake_with_04002) (Mary’s recipe)  
> Dan’s showstopper: [ Chocolate and mint checkerboard cake ](http://www.lifestylefood.com.au/recipes/24601/mint-and-chocolate-checkerboard-cake) (Angela’s recipe, Season 1, The Great Australian Bake Off)


	2. Week Two - Biscuits

Showing up for Week Two was only marginally easier than showing up for Week One. There was no gut-eating worry that one of the producers might turn him away because there had been some mistake and he wasn’t a contestant after all. But instead there was the niggling realisation that he was actually doing this, that he had set himself up to be picked apart and judged by pretty much the whole British population. He wasn’t even going to begin to think about all the other places around the world that the show aired in. It was much easier to just focus on whatever he needed to bake.

“Welcome back to the tent, bakers,” Mel said, when she and Sue, and Mary and Paul, had stepped to their marks in front of the bakers. “This week is all about biscuits. Sweet ones, savoury ones, crunchy ones, soft ones, round ones, square ones–”

“Okay,” said Sue, holding out a hand. “They get it.”

“I’m just saying, we don’t discriminate.”

“For your signature bake, Mary and Paul would love you, please, to make twenty-four savoury biscuits. They can be any flavour you like but they must not be sweet. You have just one hour so use your time wisely. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Phil had just about died when he’d learnt they only had an hour to do this challenge. It was only week two, shouldn’t they build up to that kind of intense time pressure? How anyone could produce a bake worthy of Mary and Paul was a mystery to Phil, but he was going to try his best. Luckily, he had a few recipes up his sleeve that he had dusted off for the competition.

He was stationed towards the back of the tent that week, with Louise two benches ahead of him. Dan was on the other side of the tent, directly across the centre aisle from him, not that Phil was inclined to pay him any attention.

By the time Mary, Paul and Sue made it around to his bench, Phil’s ingredients had already been mixed and he was starting on kneading his dough. He needed to work fast, so that his dough could chill for half an hour before he cut out the biscuits and baked them.

“Good morning, Phil,” said Sue. “How are you feeling about biscuit week?”

“Really good actually,” he said with a smile. “I love making biscuits. I think they might actually be my favourite bake.”

“So we can expect great things from you,” Mary said.

Phil ducked his head and shrugged. “Well, I’d hate to overpromise.”

“What are you making this week?” Paul asked.

“My biscuits are flavoured with sun-dried tomato and sesame seeds.”

“They sound like they’d be delicious with cheese,” Mary said.

Phil huffed a laugh. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t like cheese.”

“What? At all?” Sue said and Phil nodded, pursing his lips against a laugh at the stunned look on her face. “Well, I guess that’s fair enough. I suppose.”

“We’ll leave you to it,” Paul said. “Thanks, Phil.”

They walked away and Phil took a moment to judge that his dough was well-kneaded and ready for rolling. Just as he picked up his rolling pin, Dan’s voice carried across the aisle.

“Do you really not like cheese?”

Phil couldn’t help looking up at Dan, who wasn’t even looking at his dough as he worked with it.

“Yeah,” Phil said warily. “So what?”

Dan shrugged, the easy sort of shrug used by someone who hadn’t a care in the world. “So, it’s just kind of weird. Who doesn’t like cheese?”

Phil frowned. “Plenty of people don’t like cheese.”

“But cheese goes with everything. Crackers, chutney, potatoes, wine. What do you put on your pasta? Do you not like pizza as well?”

“Of course I like pizza–”

“But it’s got cheese on it.”

“I just don’t like cheese, okay?! It tastes weird and it smells.”

Phil scowled down at his dough and thumped his rolling pin into it, to begin flattening it into a rectangle. What was it about Dan? Was no one else allowed to have opinions around him? Maybe it had something to do with law school. Or maybe Dan had just been the child that no one ever said no to and he’d grown up into this person who believed he was always right and forced his opinions on everyone around him. It was what Phil’s mum would have called an unattractive quality.

With his dough rolled out and chilling in the fridge, Phil preheated his oven and dusted his baking tray with flour. Then, it was a tense wait while his dough chilled. Everyone else had their dough in the fridge for a much shorter period than he did, and he was getting antsy watching everyone cut out and get their biscuits in the oven. Finally, Phil brought his dough back out to his bench, cut out twenty-four circles, laid them gently on his floured tray, sprinkled sesame seeds on them and set them in the oven. They wouldn’t take long to cook, and they were delicious warm, so he hoped he’d timed himself well enough.

With five minutes to go, he pulled his biscuits out of the oven. They were golden brown, just the way they’d been when he’d practised them, and smelled of tomato. He fumbled them onto a cooling rack for a couple of minutes and then arranged them on a board with a minute to spare.

“Time’s up!” Mel called. “Step away from your biscuits!”

The judging started on the opposite side of the tent, with Rory who had produced a simple but tasty cheese biscuit. Unfortunately, Adelina, who was next, had created something with an unappealing salmon paste on top.

Dan, when they stopped at his bench, was much more confident.

“Remind us of what these are,” Mary said, as Paul checked that Dan had laid out the required twenty-four.

“These are pumpkin and sunflower seed biscuits.”

“They’re a great colour,” Paul said, “and they’re all evenly baked. Sometimes you’ll have some that are darker or lighter but these are identical.”

“They have an excellent texture,” said Mary, after she and Paul had each bitten into a biscuit. “I love the graininess and the bite of the sunflower and pumpkin seeds.”

“What flour did you use?” Paul asked.

“Wholemeal. I think it adds a bit more flavour and makes them more robust than just plain old white flour.”

Paul nodded. “They’re excellent. They’d be great with a dip or a chutney. Well done, Dan.”

Dan nodded as the judges moved on to Chloe’s bench and, again, Phil marvelled at his muted reaction. Anyone else would have been pleased to receive a critique as positive as that one, but it was like Dan didn’t feel anything at all. Maybe it would take a real disaster to elicit some kind of emotion but, from the little Phil had seen of Dan’s bakes, that wasn’t like to happen any time soon, unless Dan was very unlucky.

Henry’s peanut butter and bacon biscuits didn’t impress Mary and Paul at all – they were deemed too salty and had a strange texture – and then it was Phil’s turn.

“They’re well-baked,” Paul said. “The sesame seeds on top aren’t overdone.”

“They’re a lovely colour,” said Mary. “The tomato has given them an orange tinge which is very appealing.”

Mary and Paul each took a bite, and Phil tried to keep his breathing even. Would the churning in his stomach lessen the more his bakes were judged, or was he going to feel this every week until he was eliminated? How was he going to survive it?

“They’ve got a surprising crunch to them,” Mary said, “but they’re crumbly inside and I like that.”

“The flavours are strong but not overpowering,” said Paul. “All in all, that’s a good biscuit.”

Phil sighed into a smile as they left. Another successful bake under his belt. It wasn’t going to last, of course. At some point, he would make a crucial error and be faced with the disapproving stares of Paul and Mary. But, until then, he was going to enjoy this light, floaty feeling of a job well done. It was nice to have his talent confirmed by someone who wasn’t obligated to compliment him. If nothing else, at least he would leave this competition knowing that he actually could bake, no matter what else he might or might not be able to do.

He hurried through his lunch, even though there was no need to – they weren’t going to start the next challenge just because he’d finished eating earlier than everyone else. He just couldn’t help it. He was ready to face whatever the technical was and he wasn’t the most patient person in the world. With his hands free of food to distract him, he picked at imaginary threads on his jeans and bounced his knee up and down until Louise clamped a hand down on his arm.

“Please, Phil. You’re going to give me some kind of complex.”

His shoulders rose as he sank back into his seat and then sat on his hands. “Sorry. I just don’t want to sit around. I want to get back to baking.”

“All in good time.” She stuffed a forkful of salad in her mouth, chewed and then said, “What was up with you and Dan this morning?”

Phil’s mood instantly darkened and he glanced across the grass to where Dan was seated near Rory, Omar and Mikayla. Not that he was taking part in their conversation – his face was buried in his phone and his free hand was occupied with constantly putting food in his mouth. If the other three were bothered by this, there was no sign of it.

He turned his attention back to Louise and shrugged. “He has an issue with the fact that I don’t like cheese.”

Louise raised an eyebrow. “Your little spat was about cheese?”

“He always has to be right. What’s up with that?” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

She shook her head. “I dunno. I’m sure he’s not that bad. Maybe you just have to get to know him.”

He held a hand out to where Dan was sitting. “How? He doesn’t talk to anyone!”

“Except you, apparently.”

“Yeah, to point out all the things that I’m doing wrong.”

Louise rolled her eyes. “You two are being such boys. But fine. If you don’t want to get to know him, that just means I can have you all to myself.”

It was a relief to get back into the tent after that. At least with baking to distract him, Phil didn’t have to think about how maybe Louise was right.

“Bakers,” said Mel, “welcome to your second technical challenge. As you know, these challenges are judged blind so, Mary and Paul, please vacate the premises.”

They all watched Mary and Paul leave and then Sue said, “So! Today’s technical challenge comes from dear old Mary. Don’t let her grandmotherly veneer fool you. She’s a baking fiend. Today, we would like you to make eighteen florentines.”

“These are delicate lacy biscuits, packed with fruit and nuts and decorated with chocolate. You have one and a quarter hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Phil tried not to look too pleased. He’d never made florentines before, but he’d read recipes and he’d seen others make them. As far as he was concerned, that was a definite advantage, especially as he could overhear Henry asking Chloe if she even knew what a florentine looked like.

He started by preheating his oven and then measured his butter, syrup and sugar into a pan to melt. Once that was done, he took it off the stove and stirred in the flour, fruit and nuts.

“Phil,” said Mel, coming up next to him, “I can’t help but notice that you’re baking with a degree of confidence that many of the other bakers lack.”

He looked up and around the tent, and raised his eyebrows when he found that she was right. Chloe was trailing her finger across the recipe card as she reread the instructions, Rory was staring into his mixture as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it and Julian had thrown out his first batch and started again. Only Louise, Dan and Anne seemed to be working with any sort of confidence.

He turned back to Mel, gave his mixture one last stir for good measure and then picked up a teaspoon. “I guess. I’ve never made them before but they’re not super hard if you know what to do.”

She eyed him and the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? This knowing what to do.”

He chuckled and gave a small shrug. “Maybe.”

Her smile bloomed and she patted him on the back before she left. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Three baking trays had been supplied to each baker and Phil had lined each of his with a sheet of baking paper. He spooned six teaspoons of mixture onto each tray and then slotted them all into the oven. They wouldn’t take long to cook, probably no more than ten minutes, and he could use that time to get started on tempering his chocolate.

It was a luxury he hadn’t appreciated, being able to stand back and watch the other bakers, secure in his knowledge of what to do next. Henry hadn’t left enough room between his blobs of mixture, so he clearly didn’t know how much they spread, and Adelina had made hers way too big.

He checked his florentines after nine minutes and hurried to remove them from the oven. They had cooked quicker than expected and he’d pulled them out just before the edges could get too dark. They were so delicate that a few extra seconds could take them from perfect to burnt before you’d even realised what had happened.

He left them to cool for a couple of minutes while he returned to his chocolate and then lifted them gently onto a wire rack.

From the front of the tent, Sue called, “Fifteen minutes, bakers! Fifteen minutes before we unleash Mary and Paul. Consider yourselves warned.”

It was time to get his skates on. Thankfully, the florentines had cooled enough that he could spread the chocolate over the bottom of each without fear of it melting, as Julian’s chocolate was doing. Once he’d spread on the chocolate, he grabbed a fork and drew zigzags patterns through each of them. Then, he grabbed a spare tray and frantically fanned them in an effort to set the chocolate faster. Henry had taken his chocolate covered biscuits to the fridge to harden the chocolate. Rookie mistake.

With one minute to go, Phil dropped the tray-fan and placed his florentines in two rows down a serving plate. Seeing them all laid out together, Phil grinned. He had a good feeling about this bake.

“Time’s up!” Mel yelled. “Please bring your bakes up to the front of the tent for judging.”

Phil’s photo was second in the line that week, which meant he wouldn’t have to sweat it out while everyone else was judged. He settled on a stool between Louise and Julian and folded his hands in his lap.

When they arrived, Mary and Paul walked down the line of plates, inspecting the offering. Then, Mary looked up at them.

“Well, you’ve produced quite a spread. I’m looking for delicate biscuits with lacy edges and well-tempered chocolate that hasn’t seeped through the holes in the biscuits, with a zigzag pattern.”

“Gee,” said Sue, “you don’t ask for much, do you, Mary?”

The bakers laughed, Mary smiled and then she and Paul moved to Chloe’s florentines at the head of the line.

“These are quite good,” Mary said, after she and Paul had tasted one. “They’re a bit overbaked and the chocolate hasn’t had time to set, but there’s a good spread of fruit and nuts in each of the florentines, and they’re all roughly equal in size.”

They moved onto Phil’s plate next.

“I like the look of these, Mary.”

She nodded and picked one up. “They’re a lovely colour and the edges are perfect.”

“The chocolate has been really well tempered. It’s got a great shine.”

“And the zigzag is correct. The chocolate must be the right consistency for this pattern,” she explained. “Too thick and you’ll lose the definition; too runny and you won’t make an impression.”

They both agreed that Phil’s florentines tasted good and had a great texture and then moved on to Adelina’s biscuits, which were rough around the edges after she’d had to cut them away from each other on the tray.

There was a funny squirming in the pit of Phil’s stomach as Mary and Paul moved through the rest of the bakes. Louise and Dan did well; Henry and Rory didn’t. Everyone else fell somewhere in the middle. This was better than Phil could have hoped. The good feeling he’d had earlier only increased with every judgement that was made.

Finally, all the florentines had been tasted and Mary and Paul had conferred. 

Paul stepped up to the plate in the centre of the table. “In last place, this one. Whose is this?”

Henry raised a hand and it went from there. Mary and Paul ranked each of the bakes until only three bakers remained: Phil, Louise and Dan.

“In third place,” said Mary, walking to the end of the table and pointed to Louise’s plate.

“So we’re down to Dan and Phil,” Paul said.

Phil’s stomach clenched painfully as he looked down the line of bakers to Dan, who was sitting at the other end, not meeting his eyes.

“In second place…” Paul walked down to where Phil’s and Dan’s plates were separated only by Adelina’s and drummed his fingers on the table.

Phil wanted to win this so badly his blood was thrumming with it. He had come so close to first place in the technical the week before but hadn’t minded missing that one so much. The thought of losing the biscuit technical to Dan, though, that made his hands clench.

“This one,” said Paul and tapped one of the plates.

Phil’s heart leapt as Dan slowly raised his hand. He’d actually done it! Week Two and he’d won a technical challenge! He tried to fix his face into a polite smile, but he could feel the excited grin spreading.

“Which means Phil has come first,” Mary said, coming up beside Paul to stand behind Phil’s plate.

“There wasn’t much in it,” said Paul. “Dan’s florentines were just a little less baked than Phil’s. You both did very well.”

“Well done, Phil!” Louise said, clapping her hands to his cheeks when the cameras had stopped rolling. Her grin was so wide that it split her face.

He laughed and forced himself to take a deep breath. “Thanks.” He glanced up at Dan, who was part of the group leaving the tent.

Louise saw where he was looking and flapped a hand in Dan’s direction. “Don’t worry about him. He didn’t look too bothered about coming second. You’ve got bigger things to think about now.”

“Like what?” he said, as they exited the tent together.

“Like star baker.” She lowered her voice dramatically.

Phil’s stomach flipped but he shook his head forcefully. “Don’t talk about that.”

“Why not? You did really well in the signature, you came first in the technical. The stars are aligning for you.”

“I don’t want to jinx it. And besides, people have been known to produce incredible things during the showstopper. Someone might come out of left field and blow Mary and Paul away.”

“Maybe,” she hummed. “Or maybe it’s you everyone here should be worried about.”

*** * ***

As much as he’d tried not to think about it, the words “star baker” had been repeating themselves in Phil’s head since dinner. Obviously there was no guarantee that Mary and Paul even thought he was in the running but Louise was right: things were looking good for him. The thought of having to live up to that expectation, of having to prove with his showstopper that he deserved it, made his palms sweat. What if he wasn’t good enough? What if Dan was better?

“Bakers,” said Mel, “welcome to your showstopper challenge.”

“Today, we’re asking you to create a biscuit structure. It can be of anything you like and made with any biscuit you like but it must be recognisable and free-standing. You have five hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Gingerbread was the most logical choice for this challenge and most of the bakers clearly agreed. Almost as one, they got their butter melting and grabbed their flour and various spices. Only Henry had been brave enough to venture away to another biscuit. He was making sugar cookies, which Phil couldn’t help but see as a drastic mistake. Maybe he had some tricks up his sleeve but, in Phil’s experience, sugar cookies were soft and crumbly – not ideal for building with.

Phil had never made a gingerbread structure before but he had made a hell of a lot of gingerbread. Every Christmas, he spent a day baking cookies in the shapes of stars, trees, bells and people. When they were cool, he, his parents and Martyn all sat around the table together and decorated them. It was probably pretty cheesy but that was what Christmas was all about as far as Phil was concerned: embarrassing family activities that you would never do any other time of the year but which you started looking forward to as soon as you felt that first bite in the air.

He was rolling out his dough when Mary, Paul and Sue stopped at his bench.

“Good morning, Phil,” Sue said. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“I’m feeling good,” he said. “Yesterday was a good day for me so I’m hoping to keep that going through today.”

“What are you building?” Mary asked.

“I’m making the Wheel of Manchester out of gingerbread.”

“You’re from the north, aren’t you?” Paul asked and Phil nodded. 

“Yeah. Not Manchester, but I’ve spent a lot of time there and I’ve been on the Wheel. I figure it will be a tribute to my northern roots.”

Paul and Mary laughed, and Phil smiled. They weren’t so scary really, at least when he was in his comfort zone. Maybe the trick was just to be confident, no matter what he was making.

“We’ll let you get back to your gingerbread,” Sue said. “Make sure you call me if you need someone to dispose of the castoffs. Just don’t tell Mel.”

Phil laughed and promised he would, then returned his attention to his gingerbread. He wanted it to be thick, so that the structure would be strong and stable, but not so thick that the pieces were heavy. The last thing he wanted was for it not to stand up or, even worse, the whole thing falling down in front of Mary and Paul.

He had drawn stencils, which he would use to cut out the individual pieces. Getting them the right size had been a challenge, but he’d managed to make it all come together at home so there was no reason it wouldn’t work here.

As he traced his knife around the outside of the wheel stencil, he was vaguely aware of Mary, Paul and Sue walking up the centre aisle of the tent and stopping at Dan’s bench. He tried to force his attention away – what did he care what Dan was building? – but he couldn’t help it. Even as he kept his eyes on his work, one ear was on the conversation at the bench opposite.

“Already cutting, Dan?” Paul said.

“Yeah. I want to get things in the oven as soon as possible, in case I need to do any kind of damage control, and so I’ll have enough time for assembling and decorating.”

“What are you making today?” Mary asked.

“The London Eye.”

Phil’s knife slipped but thankfully the dough was thick enough to stop it sliding too far.

“That’s the second Ferris wheel we’ve got in the tent today,” Sue said. “Phil’s making one too.”

“So I heard,” Dan said, voice almost emotionless.

“So how will your wheel be different?” Paul said.

“Mine will spin.”

At that, Phil’s head shot up to look over at them. Though Dan was turned to face the judges, Phil could make out the smirk on Dan’s face even from across the tent.

What did Dan mean that his would spin? How was that even possible?

“What, actually spin?” said Sue. “In a circle?”

“Yep. I put a rod in the centre of the wheel – made of gingerbread, of course – and it turns the wheel. It took some trial and error, but I figured it out in the end.”

“It sounds very impressive,” Mary said. “I’m looking forward to seeing it all come together.”

Phil was frozen, even after Mary, Paul and Sue had moved on to speak to someone else. Dan was making a wheel, just like Phil. That alone would have been bad enough, but now Dan was going to make his wheel spin too? Was this some kind of conspiracy against him?

“There’s no need to look so betrayed, Phil,” Dan said. “I didn’t copy you or anything. It’s just a coincidence.”

“Right. Of course.” He turned back to his gingerbread and firmed up his grip on the knife, so his hand wouldn’t shake as he continued to cut around the stencils.

There was a moment of silence and then, closer now, Dan said, “Oh, come on. You don’t actually think I copied you, do you? How would I even do that? I don’t know where you live!”

“You might have heard me talk about it.”

“Who did you tell?” He was standing at the end of Phil’s bench, arms folded across his chest.

No one, Phil didn’t say. Because it was true. He hadn’t told anyone what his showstopper was going to be, in an effort to avoid this exact situation. But it had happened anyway. It just sucked that it was Dan.

“Exactly,” Dan said – apparently he could read minds now too. “Believe it or not, I’m not actually out to get you.” He turned away to return to his bench, but then he turned back. “By the way, you might want to consider cleaning up after yourself.” He nudged a floury measuring cup back into the tottering pile of dirty bowls on the edge of Phil’s station. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you function under all this mess.”

Phil scowled and pretended he hadn’t heard, and finished cutting out his stencil pieces. When they were all laid out on the baking trays, he slotted them into the oven and set his timer. They wouldn’t need more than fifteen minutes, but he would start checking the pieces at ten. The smaller ones would need less time to cook than the larger pieces, and that was part of the challenge. The whole structure needed to be evenly baked, not made with lighter pieces and burnt pieces.

While he waited, Phil got started on his royal icing, which he would use to decorate the wheel. He also had small chocolate buttons, which he was going to stick onto the outside of the wheel to represent the carriages. He just needed to remember to stick them on really well – the first time he’d attempted the complete bake at home, half the buttons had fallen off within minutes of them being put on. He really didn’t want to present a wheel that was disassembling itself before the judges’ very eyes.

The smaller gingerbread pieces started coming out of the oven after about twelve minutes. They were firm, but not hard, just as he’d wanted them and he set them aside to cool. The larger pieces came out a few minutes later. While he waited for the larger pieces to cool, he trimmed the edges of the smaller pieces so that they were clean and sharp. Uneven edges made the whole much harder to put together, and made for a messy finish.

Once everything was trimmed and completely cold, he could get started on putting the whole thing together. Phil had to take a fortifying breath before he could begin. What he hadn’t realised when he’d decided to make the Wheel was that there wasn’t a lot of surface area being used to hold the wheel in place. The people making houses and buildings had a much easier time – the walls fit together and supported each other. Phil’s wheel, however, was basically suspended in the air, held in place only by a ton of royal icing on the centre support.

He couldn’t stop once he’d started. When he got going, he just needed to see it through and hope for the best. And standing around staring at pieces of gingerbread wasn’t going to help him. In fact, it was working against him. The longer he stood around putting it off, the more he would have to rush to get it all done in time. Plus, it needed adequate setting time. Better to just bite the bullet and go for it.

It was like the rest of the tent disappeared while he worked. Time didn’t exist, the people around him didn’t exist. His body didn’t even exist, apart from his hands, piping the icing to secure all the pieces together. His breath caught when the wheel slipped away from the centre support and he grabbed it with one hand and fumbled the piping bag up to squeeze more icing out with the other. Then he pressed the pieces together between his hands and waited long, antsy moments to see if they would bind together. When he drew his hands away slowly and nothing moved, his breath left him in a gusty sigh.

From the start of the build, to sticking on the last chocolate button, the whole assembly took about forty-five minutes. He straightened and groaned, reaching around to rub away the ache in his back, from where he had been bent over his bench. His neck ached too and the muscles in his arms were jittery from the constant tension. It was a relief to get the structure in the fridge to firm up while he whipped up another batch of royal icing.

By that point, there was only an hour left in the challenge and everything was really starting to come together around the tent. Louise’s windmill looked great, and Julian had created ski chalet, complete with mountains. Adelina had built a castle and Omar had built a train and carriages. Henry had put together some kind of tower with a conical top, but his sugar cookies didn’t seem to be holding up as well as he’d hoped.

With half an hour to go, Phil pulled his structure from the fridge and started piping. He’d never piped so fast in his life and knew that some of his lines were wonky, but he was at least determined to get it finished. Presenting a half-decorated structure would look worse than something that hadn’t been decorated at all.

There was a flurry of activity around the tent. People were running around everywhere and someone somewhere said a word that definitely wasn’t allowed on the Bake Off. Phil just kept his head down and went on piping.

He dropped his piping bag and stepped away from his bake with a minute to spare. He was still too keyed up to be relieved, but all the details were on and it was holding together, which was more than could be said of Chloe’s, which was only half decorated by the time the challenge finished.

Henry was called up for judging first and presented a platter of half-assembled and separate pieces. Phil winced and glanced at his own bake to reassure himself that it hadn’t magically dissolved since he’d looked at it last.

“Why did you use sugar cookies?” Paul asked.

Henry’s head was ducked low. “I don’t like gingerbread. I thought I could make the sugar cookies work.”

“Sugar cookies lack the structural integrity of something like gingerbread,” Mary said. “Adding more flour to the recipe might have helped.”

They each broke a piece off to taste and Paul nodded his head in a so-so fashion. “It’s a sugar cookie, it tastes okay. It’s a shame the structure just isn’t there.”

Henry nodded and took his bake back to his bench. Louise was next, and the judges praised her decoration skills. Then Adelina, Mikayla and Rory, who was criticised for having burnt edges on his gingerbread pieces. As he waited, Phil couldn’t decide if it would be better for his bake to be judged before or after Dan’s. Going first meant that Dan would have to live up to what Phil had produced, but it also meant that his bake might be completely overshadowed by Dan’s. He just hoped that they weren’t called up one after the other. That would really open the door for direct comparisons to be made.

“Phil!” said Sue. “Do you need a hand bringing your bake up?”

So he was going first then. Right. No problem. Just be confident.

“No, thanks,” he said and took his time walking his bake up to the judges table.

“The piping could be neater,” Mary said and he nodded because she was absolutely right.

“The colour on the gingerbread is good,” Paul said. “It’s been well-baked. Nice clean edges too.”

“I’m impressed by your construction,” Mary said, leaning around to see the structure from another angle. “The wheel is completely supported just by the royal icing in the centre, is that right?”

“Yes,” Phil said. “I’m glad it’s holding together.”

Mary and Paul broke off some of the top of the wheel and chewed.

“It tastes like Christmas,” Mary said. “And I like that it’s not too hard. When building with gingerbread, people often make a firmer biscuit so that it keeps its structure, but yours is just a bit chewy on the inside.”

“It’s a really good bake,” said Paul. “It tastes great, the construction is great, it looks like what you said it would. Well done, Phil. Thank you.”

Phil avoided Dan’s eye as he carried his bake back to his bench. Phil had done well; whatever Dan had done shouldn’t matter.

Omar was judged next and then it was Dan’s turn.

“Ferris wheel number two,” Paul said and leaned in close to see the rod in the middle of the structure. “So this spins, is that right?”

“That’s right,” Dan said, back straight.

Paul touched one finger gently to the outside of the wheel and Phil held his breath. Paul pushed down on the wheel and there was a small catch against the wheel’s support...but then it slowly rotated with the rod working as a pivot.

“Well, look at that,” Mary said, a smile on her face. “It works!”

“I love that it’s interactive,” Paul said. “You’ve clearly thought about all the pieces and how they work together. And that rod is the only thing holding the wheel up. It’s very well made.”

They had to work a bit harder to snap a piece off Dan’s wheel and there was an audible crunch when they bit down.

“I would have liked a bit more give in the gingerbread,” Mary said. “But it tastes quite good.”

“There’s real heat coming through from the ginger,” said Paul, “but it’s not overwhelming or off-putting. You’ve definitely achieved what you promised. Good work.”

Well, that wasn’t helpful, Phil thought. There was no way to tell who the judges thought had done a better job. Phil thought he had beaten Dan on texture but Dan had clearly impressed with his construction and maybe even with his taste.

The other bakers seemed to have picked up on the rivalry that had sprung up between Phil and Dan. When they all sat on their stools to wait for Mary, Paul, Mel and Sue to announce the week’s results, Phil was sitting at the far left and Dan was at the far right, with everybody else ranged between them.

“Bakers,” said Sue, “we’ve come to the end of Biscuit Week.”

“This week, the fun job falls to me,” said Mel. “This week’s star baker produced some excellent savoury biscuits, spectacular florentines and a truly impressive gingerbread construction. I’m very happy to announce that star baker goes to…”

Phil’s hands were clenched in his lap and his lips were pressed together. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle doing so well all week and then losing at the last moment.

“Phil!”

Beside him, Louise cheered and clapped hard. The rest of the bakers applauded and Phil beamed. He had actually done it. Despite Dan’s spinning Ferris wheel, Phil had taken star baker. He wanted to burst out laughing, he was so happy.

“Unfortunately, we have to say goodbye to someone as well,” said Sue and the mood sobered quickly. “This week, I’m sad to say that the person not continuing on with us is...Henry.”

It wasn’t much of a shock really, and Henry took it well. There was a grim smile on his face as he accepted hugs from Mel and Sue, but he seemed in relatively good spirits. Phil hoped that he managed to stay just as upbeat when he was eliminated. So long as he didn’t cry, any other reaction would be fine.

“I told you you would win, Phil!” Louise said and hugged his arm to her.

He laughed and found that his cheeks ached from grinning so hard. “Yeah, I guess you did. I can’t believe I actually won.”

“You deserved it. You baked the best biscuits all weekend.”

She spun away to speak to Mikayla and Phil was left alone. He sank back onto his stool and watched the chaos whirl around him. Of course, at that moment, the crowd parted and Dan appeared in front of him.

“So you won,” Dan said, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Yep. I guess I don’t need fancy tricks to make the judges like my bakes.” Having Dan there was already starting to suffocate him.

Dan’s mouth tightened. “It’s the showstopper. At least I tried to be inventive and original.”

“You baked the same thing as me!”

Dan threw his arms up. “Coincidentally! We’ve been over this. I would prefer to not bake the same thing as you in the future. I would rather not be compared to you.”

So, what? He thought Phil’s bakes were less worthy than his? 

“Good,” Phil said, turning his face away. “I don’t want to be compared to you either.”

“Fine.”

“Okay.”

Dan stood there for another second more and then spun on his heel and disappeared back into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Phil’s shoulders slumped and his face settled into a frown. Dan really had a way of taking the shine from Phil’s happy moments.

“What happened to you?” Louise asked, when she reappeared back at his side.

He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s not important. Are you ready to head back to the hotel? I’m dying to get home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil’s signature: [ Sun-dried tomato and sesame seed biscuits](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/sun-dried_tomato_and_86934) (Paul’s recipe)  
> Dan’s signature: [ Pumpkin and sunflower seed biscuits](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/pumpkin_and_sunflower_54035) (Enwezor’s recipe, Season 5)  
> Technical: [ Florentines](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/marys_florentines_49833) (Mary’s recipe)


	3. Week Three - Bread

Phil tried not to scowl. Dan was stationed in front of him that week, which was exactly what he needed. As if it being Bread Week wasn’t bad enough.

Despite his star baker win, he’d gone home the weekend before in a foul mood, one that had lingered well into the car ride home from the train station with his mum.

“What’s wrong?” she’d asked for the tenth time. “Did you get eliminated? It’s okay if you tell me, I promise I won’t tell anyone, and I won’t be disappointed.”

“I didn’t get eliminated. It’s just...there’s this guy.”

“Ohhhh!” That perked her up.

He sighed. “Not like that, Mum.”

“Oh.”

“He’s one of the other bakers. We just don’t get on at all. I think he probably hates me.”

“Hates you? Don’t be silly.” She turned into their driveway and turned off the car. The lights were on the in house and Phil just wanted to go up to his bed for some proper sleep. He would have to get up early to start practising his bakes for Bread Week.

“He does! Probably. He spent the whole weekend judging me. He thinks he’s a better baker than me.”

“Well, that’s not up to him to decide, now is it? Just don’t worry about him, Phil, and focus on your baking. You have a real chance to win this competition and after it’s all over, he won’t matter anymore.”

His mum was right of course. Dan’s opinions didn’t matter, Phil knew, but standing behind him in the tent, it was easy to forget.

“Welcome to Bread Week,” said Sue. “For this week’s signature challenge, we would like you to make thirty-six breadsticks. They can be any flavour you choose. You have two hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Breadsticks. Right. He’d made so many of these at home over the last week, his family had had to start giving them away. His mum had banned him from making any more bread for the next six months after the week was over. It wasn’t going to be a hard promise to keep. Phil never baked bread. It wasn’t fun or creative like cakes and desserts were. It was just...bread. Just a lump of dough sitting on a plate. Sure, it was delicious with soup, but it wasn’t what made people stop outside a bakery and stare in awe through the window, was it?

Which was why he’d added chocolate to his bake.

“Chocolate,” repeated Paul, when he, Mary and Sue came around to hear from all the bakers. “You’re putting chocolate in your breadsticks?”

“Yes, chocolate and orange zest. I’m not a huge fan of breadsticks so I thought I’d turn mine into something that I’d actually want to eat if someone gave me a plate of them.”

“Have you used chocolate in bread before?” asked Paul. He was eyeing Phil in that unflinching way that he had, the way that made Phil tremble a bit inside.

“Not before this week. But I think they turned out okay at home so hopefully it all works out today.”

“All right,” said Sue, “we’ll leave you to it. Good luck, Phil.”

And they walked away leaving Phil feeling even less confident than he’d been to begin with. But it was fine, he thought, as he kneaded his orange zest into his dough. They were just sticks of dough. How hard could it be?

He couldn’t help but notice, though, that Paul reacted much more favourably to Dan’s black olive breadsticks than he had to Phil’s.

“I love olives,” he heard Paul say.

“Did you know that?” Sue asked.

Dan laughed and shook his head. “I’m just lucky, I guess.”

“Only if they work!” Mary cautioned.

Phil didn’t want Dan to fail – that was too mean spirited for him – but he couldn’t deny that there was a small part of him that hoped that the judges preferred his breadsticks over Dan’s.

It wasn’t long before it all started to go pear-shaped, though. Phil’s dough hadn’t really grown much at all when he pulled it out of the proving drawer, especially compared to Dan’s, which had at least doubled in size.

“You made a mistake using chocolate,” Dan said, plopping his dough onto his bench.

Phil glared. “No, I didn’t. They’ll be fine.”

Dan shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Phil divided his dough into twenty-four roughly even pieces. Dan, of course, weighed his dough using a scale and divided it up exactly. At least Dan had left his shaped just like sticks, though; Phil went to the effort of twisting his breadsticks. Into the oven the breadsticks went, and then it was a waiting game.

They didn’t need to bake for very long, Phil knew. They were so thin that there was a fine line between perfect and overbaked. But he was confident when he pulled them out of the oven. They were a good colour and he could smell the chocolate and orange. He would have been tempted to eat them himself, if he didn’t know better. He did have some chocolate left over, which he was going to use to garnish his plate...but no one would miss one small piece...maybe two.

“One minute left on the clock, bakers!” called Mel.

Phil smiled as he cut a wedge of orange and arranged it on his plate, beside his breadsticks and a few squares of chocolate. Dan, he couldn’t help but notice, hadn’t even started arranging his plate yet. He got there in the end, of course – they all did, even Omar, who’d had to remake his dough from scratch – and then the challenge was over.

The judges made their way around the tent. At each plate of breadsticks, Paul did the snap test. Phil eyed his breadsticks nervously. Would his breadsticks snap? He’d never tried at home. Should he have? Yes, he should. But it was too late now. The bake was done and they were already coming around to him.

Paul picked up one of the breadsticks and looked up at him. Slowly, he bent the breadstick in half and it tore more than it snapped. There was no satisfying sound. In fact, there was no sound at all.

“Well, there’s obviously a problem,” Paul said and Phil wanted to hang his head in shame. “They’re underproved and underbaked. Adding chocolate to dough means it takes longer to rise, and then they’re already so dark in colour that you’re fooled into thinking they’re baked before they actually are.”

“There’s a lovely kick of orange to them,” said Mary. “They would have made very nice sweet rolls.”

“Maybe,” said Paul. “But they’re not good breadsticks.”

They walked away but Phil at least waited until the cameras had departed before he slumped against his bench. From across the tent, Louise sent him a sympathetic smile.

Dan was the last to be judged. Over the bench, Phil could see Dan digging his toe into the carpet.

Paul picked up one of Dan’s breadsticks and broke it clean in half.

“Oh yes,” said Mary. “Listen to that snap.”

“That’s excellent,” said Paul and they tasted them. “Maybe a little overproved but otherwise perfect. Well done.”

Perfect. Of course. Phil sighed and the cameras stopped rolling. That had been a bad start to what he already knew was going to be a bad weekend.

*** * ***

“Bakers,” said Sue, rubbing her hands together, “this week’s technical challenge is Paul’s very own recipe. Paul, do you have any final words of advice for the bakers before you and Mary go out to pasture?”

Paul smirked and looked around the room, and Phil almost gulped when they made eye contact. “Be patient.”

Phil stifled a groan. Patience wasn't really something Phil was known for.

“Be patient?” Mel repeated. “Right. Well, I'm sure they'll find that very helpful. Thanks, Paul.”

“All right. Off you go then.” Sue shooed the judges out of the tent and then turned back to them with a grin. “Okay. This week, Paul and Mary would like you to make two ciabatta, please. You have three and a half hours. On your marks…”

“Get set...”

“Bake!”

Phil pulled open the utensil drawer and grabbed the recipe off the top. He shook the tea towel off the ingredients and started reading the recipe. His stomach sank when he saw how sparse it was, not that he should have been surprised at that point. But he'd never made ciabatta before. In fact, he wasn't even certain he'd even eaten ciabatta before.

One of the producers and the camera crew had stopped at Dan’s bench.

“How are you feeling about this challenge, Dan?”

“I'm feeling okay,” he said, unscrewing the container of flour. “I've never made ciabatta before but I've eaten it and I think I understand the science.”

“Are you feeling confident after this morning's success?”

“I'm feeling quietly confident, yeah, but I don't want to jinx myself. I'm just hoping there are no disasters,” he said.

Phil glanced up when Dan laughed. It was an awkward laugh but there wasn’t much about Dan that wasn’t awkward, at least from what Phil had seen. Phil got it, though. He knew what it was like to be too tall and too gangly and generally clumsy. The difference was that Dan looked more natural in front of the camera, like he’d been doing it all his life. Maybe he had been. For all Phil knew, Dan was hiding a secret career as a child star. Maybe he hadn’t been able to make the transition into adult roles and he was in the Bake Off to reinvent himself...as a baker? Phil grimaced. There was time to work on that theory. Later. Right now, he had baking to do.

Phil really didn’t like bread, he decided as he whizzed up his ingredients and flour plumed out the top of the mixing bowl. He coughed and waved a hand to clear the air. Eating it was fine but making it? He just didn’t have the patience. All that kneading and resting, kneading and resting. Plus the baking time. Some people found it calming, he knew. Dan was probably one of those people, he thought bitterly, as he watched Dan turn his combined dough into the plastic tub he’d oiled earlier.

Like most of the bakers, Phil covered his tub and stuck his dough in the proving drawer.

“I mean, it’s a proving drawer,” he said to Mel, when she came over to check up on him. “It’s for proving bread. That’s it’s sole purpose in life. Why wouldn’t you use it?”

She glanced around the tent and made a humming sound. “Dan has his out on the benchtop.”

Phil bit back a grimace but he did glance over at Dan, who was propping his chin on his hand and drawing patterns in some leftover flour on his bench while he waited.

“That’ll take longer, though,” Phil said. He sounded more confident than he felt. “It’s warmer in the drawer so it’ll rise quicker than waiting for it out here.”

That didn’t seem to matter to Dan, though, because long after all the other bakers had turned out their dough to begin shaping, Dan was still waiting, as unflustered as ever. When Sue went over to ask what he was waiting for, they put their heads together. Phil strained his ears to try and make out their whispering but they were too quiet and the tent was too noisy and then Sue was clapping Dan on the shoulder as she moved away.

Finally, Phil’s curiosity couldn’t hold out anymore. “Aren’t you going to start working on that?” he asked, leaning over his bench.

Dan looked up, eyes wide with surprise, and then checked his watch. He shook his head. “There’s still time.”

Fine. Whatever. If Dan wanted to serve up uncooked bread to the judges that was his choice. Phil’s bread was going to be crunchy and golden and delicious.

“Is your bread flat?” he asked Louise, when he wandered over to her station. He visibly deflated when he peeked into her oven and saw how tall her loaves were.

“Do yours not look like that?” she asked and he shook his head.

“Mine have all spread out.” He stretched out his fingers to demonstrate. “They’re not much better than pancakes. I mean, I don’t know a whole lot about bread, but I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to look like that.”

She sighed and rubbed his arm. “They might still be all right.”

“Or they might be the worst ciabatta Paul has ever eaten. I just really don’t want to come last. Coming last in the technical throws you straight into the danger zone, especially after a not-so-great morning, everyone knows that.”

“Don’t stress. Chloe’s don’t have any colour on them at all. You might not come last. And even if you do, you can come back from it. You’re a great baker, Phil. Just have some confidence, otherwise you’ll shoot yourself in the foot.”

“Five minutes, bakers!” Sue called from the front of the tent. “Five minutes until Paul and Mary return to taste your delicious loaves!”

Phil hurried back to his bench and his confidence sank even further when he saw Dan pull two apparently perfect loaves out of the oven. They were even and domed and golden brown and looked like the kind of bread Phil saw in real bakeries. Phil’s loaves, when he opened the oven, where not nearly so impressive.

There was no hiding the truth so he didn’t bother dusting them with flour like some of the other bakers were doing. He just set his board up behind the photo of himself and settled on one of the stools. Everyone arranged themselves around him and silence fell as they waited for Paul and Mary to enter.

Paul was a hard man to read. He eyed the array of bread before him, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, not so much as a smirk to give his feelings away. Phil’s fingers twisted around each other so hard that they ached. His bread was last in the line, so he would have to sweat through nine other tastings before he found out how he’d done.

“Right,” said Paul, picking up one of Louise’s loaves, “these don’t look bad actually. They're a bit too round but they have a good colour. Nice crust.” He cut a slice out of the middle and poked it with one finger before tearing a piece off to taste. “Could have done with a longer prove but a good effort.”

Beside Phil, Louise let out a soft sigh of relief and he shot her a quick, tremulous smile before turning his attention back to the judges. As Louise had predicted, Chloe’s bread got pulled up for being under-proved and under-baked. Others hadn’t achieved the right shape and many others heard that their bread was under-proved. Dan, whose bread was second-last, seemed to be the only one to really impress Paul.

“These look the closest to yours,” Mary said, as Paul tapped the bottom of one of the loaves and then cut a slice out.

“Great structure on these ones. See the air pockets?” Paul said. “They’re well-baked.”

“They taste good and they’re very inviting. A lovely shape and colour.”

Great. So Dan really had baked perfect bread and now they were going to have to judge Phil’s right after. As if they weren’t already bad enough even without the immediate comparison. He restrained himself from hiding his face in his hands but it was a near thing. Louise rested her hand gently on his knee and he forced himself to breath.

“This person has had some issues,” Paul said. “They’ve lost their shape and they’re under-proved.”

“The flavour isn’t bad, though,” said Mary, and Phil wanted to hug her out of sheer gratitude.

It was just enough to keep him afloat while they waited to be ranked and it was just enough again to save him. Chloe came in last and Phil in second-last. It was still pretty bad, he knew, especially after the morning he’d had, but not-last was not-last. At that point, he would have taken any sign of hope he could. To exactly no one’s surprise, except maybe his own, Dan placed first. As all the bakers clapped and then stood to file out of the tent for the day, Phil looked over at Dan. The grin on his face wasn’t something Phil had seen before and it made Phil’s stomach clench. Dan was just a guy. A guy who could bake better bread than Phil could ever dream of. And Phil could bake better cakes than Dan could so it was all fair, wasn’t it? Just because their methods were different didn’t make one of them better than the other. Maybe the fact that they were different was actually for the best. Maybe they could even learn from each other.

*** * ***

Dan’s hotel room was two doors up from Phil’s. Standing outside, Phil wasn’t sure why he was nervous. It was just another room; Dan was just another baker. There was no real reason for the knots in Phil’s stomach. Before he could convince himself to run back to his own room, he tapped on the door. A moment later, it opened to reveal a vaguely damp Dan – he must have just come out of the shower.

“Your hair is curly,” Phil blurted and immediately wanted to smack himself in the face.

Dan’s mouth pulled to one side. “It’s ridiculous, I know.”

“It’s not! It’s cute!” His eyes widened. “Wait! No! I didn’t mean it like that.”

Dan’s eyebrows rose and his gaze jumped away as he let out a nervous little laugh. Phil wanted to melt into the floor and never have to see him again.

“I’m really sorry. I’m not usually this embarrassing,” Phil muttered.

Dan laughed and shook his head. “It’s fine. But I’m guessing you didn’t come here to talk about my hair. What’s up?”

It felt so stupid now, his reason for coming to Dan’s door. They hadn’t really talked at all since this whole thing had started. Phil hung out with Louise more often than not, and Dan didn’t seem to really hang out with anyone. Sure, he spoke to the people around the tent between filming sometimes, but he seemed like more of a lone wolf than anyone else in the competition, and he didn’t seem to mind either.

Still, Phil had already knocked now. They were face-to-face, talking. Backing out at this point would make the situation even more embarrassing than it already was.

“Bread,” he said. “I want to talk about bread.”

Dan frowned. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Phil reached up to smooth his fringe away from his eyes. “I just...well, I noticed today that you bake really good bread. In fact, judging by how things went today, you’re probably the best bread baker in the competition right now.”

A small smile pulled at Dan’s mouth and he shrugged. “Thanks. I like bread. It’s kind of my thing. It’s what I started with, when I first got into baking, and it’s still what I like the most. Cakes and biscuits and things are alright, but bread is where it’s at for me.”

“And that's why I'm here,” Phil said hastily. “Bread is definitely not my thing. Today was a complete disaster for me.”

Dan held up a hand. “It wasn't a complete disaster. Things just...didn't go exactly as planned.”

“Either way, if I have a bad day tomorrow, I'm out of here.” He frowned suddenly. “But that probably doesn't bother you as much as it bothers me. It is a competition. Every other person who goes home just brings you closer to winning.”

“Winning isn't everything, Phil.” And then Dan smiled.

It softened his face in unexpected ways and it pulled at something in Phil’s gut, made him want to sit and talk to Dan for hours and learn everything there was to know about him.

“Do you want me to help you?” Dan asked, and Phil startled. Why would anyone, let alone Dan of all people, offer to help get him through a challenge that might very well get him knocked out of the competition?

“Oh! No! I mean, unless you want to help me.” He stopped to take a breath. “No. Actually, I really just came down here to ask you about the ciabatta. Yours was the only one that really worked and I just wanted to know how you did it.”

“Really? Is that all?” Dan laughed and shrugged. “It was all about understanding the dough. You want a long, slow prove for a bread like that. Which is why–”

“Why you didn't use the proving drawer.”

“Yeah. It overactivates the yeast. The dough rises like you would expect, but it loses it's shape when it bakes.”

Phil sighed and shook his head, feeling mystified. “How did you even know that?”

“Read about it once, somewhere. I'm from the Paul Hollywood school of baking. Understand the science, know how things react with each other, and you'll produce good bakes.”

“But doesn't that make it feel so clinical?” Phil smiled as he thought of the mess that always littered his own countertop. “There's something exciting about just going all in. Throw things in a bowl and see what comes out!”

“I don't think they encourage that sort of thing on the Bake Off,” Dan said, but he was smiling again, a small smile, as if he wasn't even aware it was there.

“If I win, maybe they'll change their minds!”

Dan laughed. “I guess anything’s possible. And hey...if you need a hand tomorrow...let me know, okay? I'll try to help you out, if I can.”

Phil couldn't answer for a long moment. This felt important, like his whole experience of this competition hinged on this one moment, like turning his back on Dan now might send him down a completely different path in life.

“Okay. And if you ever need help, with cakes or desserts or whatever, I'll help you too. Maybe between the two of us, we'll be able to make it through.”

*** * ***

Phil took a deep breath and settled his shoulders.

“You’re going to be fine, Phil,” Dan whispered over his shoulder. “Remember, it’s just bread.”

He nodded and they both turned to face the front of the tent so the cameras could begin rolling. It was just bread. He repeated it to himself like a prayer.

“Good morning, bakers,” said Mel, “And welcome to your showstopper challenge.”

“Today, Mary and Paul would like you to go all out and produce a magnificent centrepiece made entirely of bread.”

“It can be shaped as anything you choose. Lions, tigers, bears–”

“Oh my!”

“I’m sure if you can think it, there’s a way to use bread to make it. Just don’t ask me how, I’m only one of the hosts for a reason.”

“You have five hours to complete this challenge. Good luck, everyone. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

It was just bread, Phil thought, as he unscrewed the top of his flour container. And he'd been practicing this bake at home all week, and it had turned out okay after the first couple of attempts. Things had a way of going wrong inside the tent, no matter how prepared you were, but if he just did everything exactly the same, he would be fine.

“Good morning, Dan,” Mel said and Phil glanced up to see her and the judges approach Dan’s bench, followed closely by a camera crew.

Paul cast his eye over Dan’s ingredients. “So what are you making today?”

Dan let out a little self-conscious laugh. “I'm making a bear.”

There was a stunned silence.

“A bear?” asked Mel. “You know that was a joke right?”

“Why a bear?” asked Mary.

Dan laughed again, stronger this time. “It's actually kind of embarrassing. My nickname growing up was ‘Bear’. My mum still calls me that sometimes. I don't know why I thought of turning it into a bread sculpture, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well,” said Mel, “the most questionable ideas always do, don't they?”

“What are you making it out of?” asked Paul.

“Wholemeal, mostly. I tried rye originally, just for the colour, but I found it was so dark that I lost the definition of the details. I'll be using honey in the recipe to add sweetness and to stick with the bear theme.”

“Honey?” Paul sounded intrigued. “Interesting. I've never seen anything like this before. I hope you can pull it off.”

Dan shrugged. “So do I.”

And at that, the judges moved away and came around to Phil’s bench.

“Hello, Phil,” said Mel.

“Hi!” he said, sloshing some water into his mixture.

“How are you feeling about today?”

Phil’s stomach dipped but he forced a smile. “Kind of nervous. Yesterday wasn't the best day I've ever had. But I'm hoping today will be better. After all, it's just bread.”

Mary nodded and smiled gently up at him. He loved Mary. She could be tough but she reminded him so much of his grandmother that he couldn't really be scared of her. She'd liked his bakes before; there was no reason she shouldn't like this one as well.

“So what are baking today?” asked Paul.

“I'm baking a plant.”

Mel blinked. “A plant?”

“Yep.” He reached down and pulled a medium-sized terracotta flower pot up onto his bench. “And I'm baking it in this.”

He saw Dan peek between the judges and raise his eyebrows in surprise. Phil resolutely ignored him.

“I'm doing a seed bread for the base and then a trunk and foliage out of a white bread flavoured with tomato and basil.”

“It sounds delicious,” said Mary.

“Baking in a flower pot isn't going to be easy,” Paul warned.

“I can do it.”

Mel smiled. “That's the spirit. We'll leave you to it.”

Phil let out a gust of air when they had walked away.

Dan turned to come closer to Phil’s bench, already working his dough between his hands. “Are you really baking your bread in a flower pot?”

“Oh, like you can talk, Mr Bear Bread.”

They didn’t talk much after that – there wasn’t any time. Five hours was probably quite a reasonable amount of time for making bread, but it didn’t really allow for things going wrong if you wanted enough time to turn your average bread into something to impress Paul and Mary.

Phil had to do well today, he knew that. Everyone knew that. His head was already on the chopping block. Thankfully, he didn’t have time to dwell on his potential impending doom. If nothing else, baking the showstopper was the perfect distraction. He just didn’t have the mental capacity to worry and bake bread at the same time, and Louise came over to check on him while he was waiting for his bread to prove.

“So…” she started, while she poked around in his ingredients. “You and Dan seem pretty chummy this morning.”

He shrugged. “I guess. We got to talking last night, about bread.”

She quirked an eyebrow and leaned in to whisper, “You talked about bread? Is that a euphemism or something?”

At first, he had no idea what she was talking about but then Phil’s eyes bulged and he shook his head so violently his own fringe poked him in the eye.

“No!” he whispered back. “We really were just talking about bread, I promise. He can bake it, apparently I can’t. I just wanted to know how he made the ciabatta.”

She glanced over at Dan, who was hunched over his bench, working on something Phil couldn’t see. “Alright. I believe you.” And then she smirked. “You two would be cute though. You’re both as tall and awkward as each other. It’d be a match made in baking heaven.”

And then she traipsed back off to her bench, leaving Phil gaping.

“Are you alright? You look like a fish,” Dan said, and Phil jumped to find him standing on the other side of his bench.

Phil cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry. Everything’s fine.”

Dan didn’t look convinced but apparently chose to let it go. Instead, he tutted over the mess of flour and various other ingredients strewn across Phil’s bench. He grabbed a cloth and began wiping. “I do not understand how you can bake in all this mess.”

“It helps my creative juices.”

“Don’t say juices, Phil.”

*** * ***

“Five minutes, bakers!” Sue called from somewhere behind Phil. “Five minutes until you need to present your yeasty masterpieces!”

Phil was scrambling. He was covered in flour and tomato juice and there was some kind of brown stain on his apron but he wasn’t sure what it was or where it had come from. It wasn’t important. He was frantically fanning his bread because he still needed to get the plant part into the pot part and he wasn’t entirely sure it was going to work at all, let alone stay in place until he went up for judging.

As two separate pieces, though, his loaves looked good. He was proud of his seedy bread but there was still a chance it wasn’t quite cooked in the middle, and none of the leaves had broken off his plant; they smelled tomatoey and had a faint orange colour.

Dan’s bear, though. Now there was something impressive. It was already standing and Dan was just painting the finishing touches on. It actually looked like a bear. It had presence. Everyone in the tent was aware of it; one of the camera crews was basically stationed at Dan’s bench. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that Dan had this one in the bag.

It didn’t bother Phil today. Dan was talented. He was just a guy who loved baking bread, and it showed. He had worked hard. Dan deserved this. He just hoped that the bread tasted as good as it looked.

“You okay, Phil?” Dan asked, as he set down his brush and wiped his hands.

“Are you already finished?” Phil didn’t want to know how deranged he looked, he could already feel it bubbling up inside him.

“Yeah. You need a hand?”

“Yes! Can you hold the plant part while I cut a hole for it? I’m scared I’ll make it too big and the whole thing will just tip over.”

Maybe Phil hadn’t quite believed that Dan would help him, because his eyes widened when Dan actually came over and delicately picked up the plant so that Phil could use the base as a guide for the cut out.

“Just start small,” Dan said. “You can always make it bigger if you have to. There’s plenty of time.”

Dan’s voice was calm and steady, and Phil’s racing heart calmed.

“Do you think I should grease it or something?”

Dan shook his head. “Butter will make the plant easier to get in, but also less stable. The friction between the two pieces should be enough if we do it gently.”

Phil nodded and discarded the cut out off to the side of the bench. He was faintly aware of someone calling out that they had ten seconds on the clock. “Okay. Let’s try now.”

Together, they assembled the pieces, nudging the trunk into the base inch by inch until, finally, they sat neatly together. Dan lifted his hands away just as Sue called for them all to put their utensils down.

Phil’s knees were wobbly and he steadied himself against the edge of the bench. Dan was grinning at him.

“You did good, Phil. It looks great and it smells delicious.”

“Thank you so much. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Dan shook his head and turned to go back to his own bench. “Yes, you could’ve, but you’re welcome anyway.”

Waiting to be judged was actually harder than the actual judging, Phil had found. Once you were up there, that was it. The bake was either good, or it wasn’t, and it was just something you had to live with. Sitting at your bench, watching everyone else go up and either be praised or criticised, just left you with your thoughts, questioning every decision you’d made.

There were some standouts. Rory had made a giant tear-and-share loaf in the shape of a sun, stuffed with cheese, and Louise had produced a basket, filled with fruit loaves in the shapes of apples and pears. Others didn’t do as well. Once again, Chloe’s bake was underproved and underbaked, and Adelina got pulled up for producing a fruit loaf that was too simple.

“Phil,” said Mel, “do you need a hand bringing your bake up?”

He took as subtle a deep breath as he could and stood, shaking his head. “No, thank you.”

The bake wobbled on its tray as he approached the judges, but it all stayed in one piece. He set it carefully on the table and then stepped back, clenching his hands together in front of him.

“Well, that is nice to look at,” said Mary. “I like the colour that the tomato is bringing out, and none of the leaves have fallen off.”

“It’s got a good crust on it,” Paul said, sawing one of the leaves off. He cut it straight down the middle and looked inside. “Well-baked, too.”

He and Mary took a bite each and chewed thoughtfully.

“It’s got a good flavour,” said Mary. “The tomato is really coming through and the basil hits you at the end.”

Paul took a wedge out of the base next and poked the middle with his finger. Phil held his breath.

“It’s not quite baked enough in the middle,” said Paul, and Phil’s stomach dropped. “It needed maybe ten more minutes. The outside is good, though, and it’s packed with seeds. Tastes good.”

And then it was over. Phil took his tray back and walked back to his bench. Dan gave him a subtle thumbs up and then was called up for judging himself.

“Now that’s a showstopper,” said Mary, beaming. “You promised us a bear and that’s exactly what you’ve given us.”

“The detail on that is fantastic,” said Paul. “Let’s hope it tastes as good as it looks.”

He cut a slice, and you could have heard a pin drop in the tent. Everyone leaned forward as Mary and Paul chewed. Phil felt like he might explode with the suspense, so he couldn’t even imagine how Dan was feeling, but then finally Paul looked up and nodded.

“That’s some great bread. It tastes good, it looks stunning. Well done, Dan.”

Dan’s shoulders slumped and he managed to thank Mary and Paul before he grabbed his bake and hurried back to his bench, as if he was worried they might change their minds if he didn’t get back fast enough.

*** * ***

“Are you nervous?” Phil asked, as they sat lined up on stools waiting to hear who had achieved star baker and who was going home.

Dan stopped drumming his hands on his legs. “No, not really. I did well this week. I know that. I’m not in any danger. I would really like to win, though.”

Phil smiled. “You will. No one’s going to forget that bear anytime soon.”

“Maybe, but Rory had a good weekend too, and I reckon his showstopper tasted better than mine did.” Dan shrugged. “I dunno. Are you nervous? You don’t need to be. Your showstopper was great.”

Phil chuckled. “It wasn’t baked in the middle.”

“Not quite. It was mostly cooked. It wasn’t inedible.”

“I just don’t know if it was enough to save me.”

“I guess we’ll see,” said Dan and everyone quietened when they were told that filming was about to recommence.

“Bakers,” said Mel, “what a weekend it has been. I don’t know about all of you, but I never want to see another carbohydrate again.”

“I’ve got the fun job this week,” said Sue, and Phil heard Dan draw in a breath. “This week’s star baker mastered breadsticks, conquered ciabatta and produced the best bread bear I’ve ever seen in my life. Congratulations, Dan, you are this week’s star baker!”

Dan let out a gusty sigh and beamed as everyone clapped. Phil nudged his shoulder with his own. “I told you you’d win,” he whispered, and Dan laughed.

“As you know,” said Mel, and the mood dropped considerably, “we can’t take all of you with us to next week. Unfortunately, this week, we have to say goodbye to…”

Phil felt so lightheaded he was worried he might pass out. What would he do if he got eliminated? He was already so used to baking all week and coming down to the tent for the weekend. The Bake Off had become his life. He thought about it all the time, he’d had dreams about it, and he wasn’t arrogant by any means, but he’d always thought he had enough talent to make it to at least week five. Leaving now would be like a kick to the gut.

His eyes slipped closed, and then…

“...Chloe.”

A sniffle came from somewhere on his left and Phil opened his eyes to see Chloe slip off her stool into Mel’s and Sue’s arms.

“You’re safe, Phil!” Dan said.

“I’m safe?” There must have been some mistake. He wanted to flag down a producer and double check that Mel had got it right. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! Your showstopper was great!”

Phil rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. His whole body was exhausted suddenly; he was starving and he wanted to go home and sleep for three days.

“I have to do better next week,” Phil said. “That was the worst feeling ever. I don’t ever want to go through that again. But it’s pies and tarts next week, and I’m not great at them either.”

Dan was quiet for a moment and then he said, “You should give me your number before we leave today. I love pastry too. Bread and pies are basically what I bake most often. I’m not saying I’m any kind of master baker, but if we exchange numbers, you can call me during the week if you need any advice.”

Phil was never going to recover from this weekend; it was just one surprise after another. He couldn’t keep up. “Dan, I’m your competition. Why are you helping me?”

Dan shrugged but his shoulders remained hunched and he glanced away. “I dunno. You seem nice, and your cakes and biscuits were really inspiring. I don’t have many friends, at all, really. I guess I just thought maybe this was something we could do together. It’s less stressful if you have a friend to bounce ideas off.”

“Or to hold the tomato and basil plant you’ve just made so you can cut an accurate hole in your seedy bread flower pot.”

Dan looked back up at him and laughed. “Exactly.”

It wasn’t a hard decision. Phil nodded. “Okay, but if I call you from my flour-covered kitchen at midnight, just remember that this was your idea.”

Dan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Midnight. Please. I don’t go to bed until four.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan’s signature: [ Olive breadsticks](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/olive_breadsticks_79125) (Paul’s recipe)  
> Technical: [ Ciabatta](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/easy_ciabatta_98431) (Paul’s recipe)   
> Phil’s showstopper: Inspired by Ian’s flower bread, Season 6  
> Dan’s showstopper: Inspired by Paul’s lion bread, Season 6


	4. Week Four - Pies and Tarts

Seeing Dan the following weekend was strange. Not because Phil was unused to seeing him – it was Week Four, after all, and how weird was it that he’d already been part of the Bake Off for an entire month? – but because they’d spoken on the phone every night since Tuesday.

Phil had woken up on Monday morning with the thought that he had Dan’s number saved in his phone foremost in his mind. Honestly, he hadn’t been convinced that it would ever get any use. After all, the thing about having a new person’s phone number was that someone would need to be the first to make contact, and Phil knew himself well enough to know it wouldn’t be him, no matter how much he might need help with his pies and tarts.

So when his phone chimed with a new message at 6:36 on Tuesday night, Phil had been stunned to find it was Dan, wondering how he was going with his practice bakes. And it had gone on from there. All conversation had stayed in the safe realm of baking for about 36 hours – how awesome it had been, to have access to someone he could talk about baking with for so long without the other person getting bored or zoning out or walking away, as Martyn tended to do – but then Dan had mentioned that he liked practicing with Muse playing in the background and then they’d had to fanboy over Muse together and everything had escalated from there.

“Are you ready?” Dan asked, as they lined up to film the entry into the tent. He was rocking on his toes. He always seemed to have slightly too much energy, Phil had discovered. Dan was always making some sort of noise, or moving around in some way, or talking over people because there was just so much going on inside him that it needed to be released somehow.

Phil nodded. “I think so. I’ve been practicing all week. If I can’t do it now, maybe I don’t deserve to be here.”

“I’m two benches behind you this week, but come grab me if you need a hand with anything, okay? You won’t, though. Your bakes sound good, from what you told me this week. You’ll be fine.”

They entered the tent and found their places – Phil couldn’t help but notice that they were all so much better at it than they’d been even just four weeks ago – and then Mel, Sue, Mary, and Paul were standing at the front of the tent and it was beginning again.

“Good morning, bakers,” said Mel, “and welcome to pies and tarts week.”

“For your signature bake, Paul and Mary would love you, please, to make a fruit pie. It can have any filling you like but it must have a lid of pastry. You have two and a half hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

In Phil’s experience, there were two types of people in the world. People who chose pie over cake, and normal people. Phil was one of the latter. When offered a choice between a slice of pie or a slice of cake, the cake was going to win every time. There was absolutely no contest. He’d eaten so much pie over the last week that he wasn’t particularly interested in ever eating it again.

As far as pies went, though, fruit ones were all right. At least they were sweet.

“Good morning, Phil,” Mary said, as she, Paul, and Sue approached.

“Good morning,” Phil said, looking up from where he was combining his pastry.

“What are you making for us today?” Mary asked.

“I’m making an apple and raspberry pie.”

“Nice, clean flavours,” Paul said, and Phil nodded as if he knew what he even meant by that.

They moved on fairly quickly, which Phil knew by now meant that his bake wasn’t particularly interesting, but nor was it a potential disaster. He was happy with that, though. He’d survived bread and he would be more than happy to just coast through pies and tarts and get on to next week. Dan, however, was aiming higher and had his sights set on being awarded star baker for the second week in a row, so Phil kept an ear open for his chat with the judges.

“What can we expect from you this morning, Dan?” Paul asked, from somewhere behind Phil.

“Today I’m making what I call my Wobbly Pie.”

“Wobbly Pie?” Mary repeated, and sounded like she was on the verge of laughter. “What’s a wobbly pie?”

“Is it filled with booze?” Sue asked. “Is that your game plan for this week? Get Mary sloshed?”

Dan laughed. “No. It’s filled with apricots and marzipan. When it’s cooked, the lid sinks into the creases of the apricots and makes them look sort of like hills. ‘Bumpy Pie’ would probably be a better name for it, but it’s stuck now.”

“Are you using fresh apricots?” Paul asked.

“Tinned, actually, but fresh work well too. They’re just not in season very often.”

“There’s a lot of moisture in tinned apricots,” said Mary.

Dan nodded. “I’ve managed to dry them out fairly well when I’ve done it at home, and the marzipan is a good base for them because it soaks up any other liquid that seeps out.”

“I’ll be checking for a soggy bottom,” Paul warned.

“You won’t find one here,” said Dan, and Phil wanted to run over and shake him for his confidence. It was just tempting fate, to sound so sure.

As it turned out, this was one of those bakes that Phil watched from his seat in front of the oven.

“All right, Phil?” Dan asked and hunkered down beside him to peer into the oven at his pie. “Your pastry looks good.”

“You know,” Phil said, conscious of the camera pointed directly at them, “I always said that I wasn’t going to be one of those obsessive lunatics, sat on the floor in front of his oven–”

“Yet, here you are.”

“What does it say about you, though? That you’re sitting in front of my oven instead of your own?”

Dan shrugged. “That I’m an avoider? If I can’t see it, it’s not happening.”

“Dan!” Phil laughed. “That’s not true, is it?”

“You would be amazed at the things that I’ve managed to avoid. I sat in my room in my parents’ house and bummed around on the internet for an entire year, just to put off going to university.”

“But now you’re studying law!”

“Yeah.” Dan grimaced but there was nothing joking about it this time. “How sad is that?”

Eventually, Dan returned to his own bench to check on his pie and then it seemed like no time at all before Mel was calling five minutes. Phil removed his pie from the oven, glad to see that it was a nice golden brown colour on top. The edges were maybe a bit dark, and he knew full well Paul and Mary would comment on it, but he did a quick check and couldn’t help but grin when he saw that there was no soggy bottom. He would take that over slightly burnt edges any day.

Sure enough…

“The edges have caught a bit,” Paul said, lifting a slice of the pie onto a plate. He turned the slice over and scraped the pastry with a fork. “It’s well-baked, apart from that.”

“The raspberries have bled and tinged the apples pink in some places,” Mary commented and ate a bite of pie. “But it tastes good. The tartness of the berries works well with the sweetness of the apples. You could have possibly added some cinnamon, for an extra kick.”

Phil nodded and thanked them as they moved away. Not bad. His pie definitely wasn’t the best in the room – Louise’s cherry pie looked amazing, even from across the room – but it wasn’t the worst either. Everyone had heard Paul and Mary’s disappointment in Julian’s pear pie, flavourless and soggy as it apparently was.

“Well, look at that,” Mary said, as the judges stopped in front of Dan’s pie. “They look just like little hills, exactly as you said.”

“It is very effective,” Paul said. “But is it soggy underneath?” He moved a slice onto a plate and everyone held their breath as he turned it over.

“It isn’t!” Mary said and nudged Paul with her elbow. “There, you see? You didn’t think it would work.”

They each took a bite and Mary nodded. “The marzipan has melted beautifully and made a lovely creamy base for the fruit.”

Paul agreed. “The apricots have a nice sharpness to them and they haven’t dried out too much in the oven. That’s a nice pie, that. Well done, Dan.”

Dan smiled and then beamed when he caught Phil’s eye, after the judges had moved on to taste what Anne had produced. Maybe Dan’s goal wasn’t so far out of reach after all.

*** * ***

“All right, bakers,” said Mel. “It’s time to get tarty.”

Sue frowned. “I don’t think we air late enough for that.”

Phil smothered a laugh and held his nerve. Four weeks in, the technical still filled him with dread, but it was easier now. He didn’t know what was coming. He would either have heard of it, or he wouldn’t have, and there was nothing he could do to change that. He just had to bake the component pieces as well as he could and hope he could piece it all together at the end.

“For today’s technical challenge,” said Mel, “Paul and Mary would like you to make twelve custard tarts. You have one and a half hours. Good luck.”

“On your marks...”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Custard tarts weren’t so bad. Phil had never made one before, but he’d certainly eaten one, and that counted for a lot during the technical challenge. He started on the pastry first, because it would have to chill before he could put it in the tins, and then he could make a start on the custard while the pastry was in the fridge.

As it turned out, making the custard was easier said than done.

“No one else is heating their milk,” Phil whispered to Dan, when Phil wandered down to his bench.

Dan looked up from where he was crimping the edges of his pastry, and then glanced at his own milk, which was still cold and sitting in a jug. “Have you heated yours? Do you think we’re supposed to? It doesn’t say that in the recipe.”

“Yeah but all the recipe says is, ‘Make the pastry. Make the custard.’ That’s hardly enough to indicate anything. And I mean...how long do you think the pastry will take to cook? Not long, probably. If the custard goes in cold–”

“The pastry will cook before the custard gets anything more than lukewarm.”

“Exactly.”

Dan tapped out a beat on his bench and then nodded decisively, reaching for a saucepan. “I think you’re right. Good thinking, Phil.”

Honestly, Phil hadn’t gone down to speak to Dan about it because he wanted to clue Dan in. After all, he might still have the wrong idea. But that was what it came down to. Hearing Dan, who could talk for ten straight minutes about gluten strands and how building them up differently affected the texture of the bread, say Phil was probably right made Phil feel better about his choice. Dan understood baking in ways that Phil knew he didn’t. Phil felt it, like, in his gut. But his gut didn’t know anything about science.

Around the tent, pastry cases of all heights were being filled to differing depths and slotted into the oven. It looked to Phil like Louise had made her tarts too shallow and then overfilled them, but what did Phil know?

The next drama came when it was time to get the tarts out of the tins.

“Five minutes, bakers!” Sue yelled and Phil jumped. She patted him on the shoulder. “Sorry, Phil.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. I wasn’t using that ear anyway.”

The bakers were frantically fanning their tarts, Phil included. He didn’t want to try and get them out of the tins while they were still hot, worried that they would collapse all over his serving tray.

Dan, at least, had had the bright idea of putting strips of baking paper under the pastry and he lifted his tarts easily out of their trays. Phil made a mental note for next time.

Generally speaking, the tarts around the tent were a disaster. There were collapsed tarts and unset custards everywhere Phil looked. Even Louise, who Phil had never known to misstep, was having to dig her tarts out.

“One minute, bakers!”

Phil’s eyes widened. He’d been so distracted by everyone else, he hadn’t even thought about this own tarts, which were still in their tins. He dropped the tray he had been using as a fan and grabbed a knife, and then was shocked to find his tarts slipped out with only a little bit of coaxing. They held their shape and the custard wasn’t runny. Overall, Phil thought he’d done an alright job, but Paul and Mary would be the judges of that.

The line of tarts made for a poor sight when Paul and Mary walked in. Even stoic-faced Paul couldn’t help but smirk when he looked around at them.

“Right. Shall we start over here, Mary?” he asked, and walked over to Phil’s tray, which was first up for judging.

Phil held his breath when Paul picked up a tart, looked it over, and then gave it a gentle shake.

“The bake’s all right. Pastry looks good.” He cut the tart in half and handed a piece to Mary.

She peered into the middle. “The custard is cooked through.”

Paul nodded, they tasted the tart, agreed it was good, and moved on. Phil let out a breath. Again, nothing spectacular, but nothing disastrous either. It was definitely a step up from last week’s ciabatta debacle.

In the end, Dan came third (“The bake is good,” explained Mary, “but the custard is just a bit underdone.”), Phil took second, and Mikayla placed first.

“That would have been a completely different outcome if you hadn’t told me to heat my custard,” Dan said later, as they were walking back to their rooms.

Phil shrugged. “I might have been wrong, though, and ruined both our chances.”

“But you didn’t. You have good instincts, Phil. You should learn to trust them more.”

And then Dan disappeared into his room, and Phil was left staring at his closed door, and his instincts were telling him to knock so they could sit and talk some more. But, in the end, Phil shook his head at himself, let himself into his own room, and went straight to bed.

*** * ***

A three-tiered pie was a stupid idea, Phil thought the next day, when he was elbow deep in flour and half an hour into their showstopper challenge. What had the judges been thinking, setting this challenge?

“Who in their right mind would try to bake a three-tiered pie?” he said out loud, though not to anyone in particular.

“I would!” called Dan from behind him and Phil shook his head.

“I said ‘who in their right mind’, Dan. I don’t think you qualify.”

Dan burst out with a laugh and everyone around them turned to look. From across the tent, Louise raised a pointed eyebrow and Phil rolled his eyes.

“Good morning, Phil,” said Paul, when he, Mary, and Mel stopped at his bench. “Tell us about your trio of pies.”

“I’m doing a trio of Christmas pies.”

Mel frowned. “A bit out of season for that, don’t you think?”

Phil laughed. “Yeah, but I love Christmas – it’s my favourite time of year – and my family always has so many leftovers that I thought it would be a great idea to be able to use them in pies. So my large pie will be filled with turkey and sage and onion stuffing, the second pie will be filled with ham, peas and carrots, and then I’m making a mince pie to go on top.”

“Even in five hours, that’s a lot to do,” said Mary. “Will you be able to get it all done in time?”

“Ummm...I guess we’ll see. When I practised it at home I never really managed to get it all done in time. The large turkey pie needs at least two hours in the oven so I’m working on a lot of hope.”

“Hope,” said Paul, sounding bemused. “Right. Well, we’ll leave you to get on with it.”

Phil knew he couldn’t expect Paul to be impressed by his haphazard method of baking but the end product would speak for itself...if he could produce the end product. Maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew with this one. He was already feeling frazzled.

Dan, by comparison, looked calm and efficient.

“I’m doing a trio of pork pies,” he told the judges, when they came around to his bench. “Each is flavoured with a different fruit. One is pork and apple, one is pork and prune and the last is pork and rhubarb.”

“And what pastry are you using?” Paul asked.

“Hot-water crust. It’s very forgiving, as pastries go, and easy to work with, so I thought it would be a good choice for pies of this size.”

Paul nodded. “All right. Good luck, Dan.”

“This is the worst idea I’ve ever had,” Phil told Sue, an hour and a half later.

“Why’s that, love?” she asked, peering into his oven. “That’s a massive pie.”

“That’s part of the problem.” He put the finishing touches on his second pie and popped it in the oven, and then turned immediately to the fruit mince he’d had soaking in brandy since the start of the challenge. “I’m not sure it will cook in time and I’m really behind.”

“Really behind?”

“Really, really behind. Paul and Mary will be lucky if they’re not eating these pies out of the tins they’re being baked in.”

Sue hummed. “Well, at least they won’t be cold!” And then she went to go and check on Rory, who was having some kind of meltdown at the front of the tent.

“Are you really that far behind?” Dan asked, when he appeared at Phil’s side a couple of minutes later.

“My last pie isn’t even in the oven yet.” He slopped fruit mince into its pastry and gave it a rough shake to level it out.

“Stop that,” Dan said, slapping his hands away and passed over a spoon. “Level it properly, if you want it to cook evenly. Or are you trying to get yourself eliminated?”

Phil sighed and then took a breath. Dan was right. He needed to chill out.

“What is it about this tent,” he asked, evening out his mixture and then rolling the lid on, “that makes all rational thought leave you?”

“It’s all the flour we’re inhaling. Has to be.”

Phil couldn’t help but laugh and found that he felt better, a feeling that only increased when he slipped his last pie into the oven.

“It smells good in there,” Dan said and backed away so Phil could close the door. “Christmas pies. That’s a great idea. I wish I’d thought of it.”

“You’re making pork pies. You can’t go wrong with them.”

Dan shrugged. “Bit uninspired though, isn’t it? This is the showstopper. They want something original and eye-catching.”

“Originality doesn’t count for much if it doesn’t taste good. Also, we’re stacking three pies on top of each other. That isn’t eye-catching enough for you?”

Of course, Dan’s pies, when he began pulling them out of the oven, were glorious. Golden brown, they were beautifully decorated, smelled delicious, and didn’t spring a leak when Dan cracked open the tins. Julian’s pies, on the other hand, had fat literally pouring out of a crack at the bottom and into a jug stationed below. Phil was just proud when he took his pies from the oven and they didn’t crack when he put the dowels in to stack them. After a bit of a wobble, he managed to get his pies standing and secure, just in time for Mel to tell them to step away from their bakes.

Once again, Phil was up first for judging. His mum had always said it was best to be first, because he wouldn’t have to sit around stewing in his own thoughts and also because everyone else would have to measure up to him. She had a point, but Phil wasn’t interested in impressing anyone; he just wanted to do enough to get through.

“A stack of Christmas pies,” Mary said. “What a terrific idea. Perfect for using up all the leftover bits and pieces people always have in the fridge.”

Paul cut a wedge from the bottom pie for him and Mary to taste.

“It’s a bit dry,” Paul said. “The stuffing has a great flavour but it’s a bit stodgy in there with all the pastry. It could do with some gravy, or some kind of sauce to add some moisture.”

The ham pie was slightly better received, but it was the mince pie that Mary and Paul were most taken with.

“Oh ho,” said Mary. “That’s delicious. The brandy is really coming through, but it’s not overpowering.”

“That’s a really good mince pie,” Paul agreed. “The filling is lovely and juicy, and it’s great that you’ve soaked the fruit in the orange juice, as well as added the chunks of orange peel. Thank you, Phil.”

He returned to his bench with a smile on his face. That had gone better than he’d even hoped for. Okay, so his first pie was dry, but it wasn’t inedible, and his mince pie had surely made up for it, at least a little bit.

“Dan, would you like a hand with your pies?” Mel asked, and then went down to take one side of the board they were stacked on.

“This is the pork and fruit trio, is that right?” Mary asked and Dan nodded. 

“That’s right. Apple on the bottom, prune in the middle and rhubarb on the top.”

“They’re lovely and moist,” Mary said, after they’d tasted a bit of each pie. “The flavours work really well together. I’ve never had pork and prune together before but it does work.”

“The bake on those is fantastic,” added Paul. “The pastry is beautiful and light but it keeps its shape. Everything is cooked through. Well done.”

Phil was pleased to hear that Louise had done well enough to probably be considered safe and after that it all sort of blurred together. Mikayla performed well with her vegetarian pies, just as she’d done in the technical, and she was clearly Dan’s main competition for this round. Julian, however, had produced pies that not only leaked but were burnt, because he’d raised the oven temperature in an effort to get them baked in time. Rory had used too much lavender in his meringue pie and everyone in the tent had bitten down on their lips to stop themselves laughing at Rory’s misfortune.

It was strange waiting to hear the results that week. Phil knew very well that he wasn’t in line for star baker, as he’d been the first two weeks, but he also wasn’t anywhere near the bottom so he wasn’t in danger of being eliminated, as he had been last week. For once, he felt nothing for himself. All his thoughts were for Louise, who had performed poorly enough that weekend to be in danger, and for Dan, who had baked well enough to be up for star baker again. He crossed all his fingers and toes for them.

“Bakers, as you know, Sue and I alternate this job and this week, I’m the lucky one.” Mel smiled around at them. “This week’s star baker gave Mary a wobble without needing to resort to a bottle of gin,” – Phil nudged Dan with his elbow as a grin started to spread across Dan’s face – “and produced three of the tastiest pork pies Paul has ever eaten. Dan, congratulations. For the second week in a row, you’re our star baker.”

The bakers clapped and Phil hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was clapping the hardest. “You keep this up,” he said to Dan, “and you’ll have a target on your back before long.”

Dan shook his head but he was laughing. “Shut up, Phil.”

Then the mood sobered and Sue sighed. “Of course, each week we have to let someone go. This week, we’re very sorry to say goodbye to…”

On Phil’s left, Louise was close to tears. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze and hoped with everything in him that her cherry pie signature was enough to get her through.

“...Julian.”

Louise let out a little sob of relief and Phil pulled her into his side for a hug.

“That was awful,” she whispered and Phil nodded.

“Really makes you want to go home and practise, doesn’t it?”

She nodded and then shook herself off, as if she was gathering herself together again. “Next week will be better.”

“Of course it will,” Phil said. “We’re back on cakes next week.”

“European cakes, though,” Dan pointed out.

“A cake is a cake, no matter what name it has or where it comes from. It’ll all be fine.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “When we’re halfway through a technical no one has ever heard of, I’m going to remind you that you said that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan’s signature: [ Wobbly apricot pie](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/wobbly_apricot_tart_20144) (Mary’s recipe)  
> Technical: [ Custard tarts](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/egg_custard_tarts_15352) (Paul’s recipe)  
> Phil’s showstopper: [ Christmas leftover pie](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/leftover_turkey_and_ham_95969) (inspired by Paul’s Christmas masterclass Christmas pie)  
> Dan’s showstopper: [ Trio of pork pies](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/rhubarb_prune_and_apple_06071) (Kate’s recipe, Season 5)


	5. Week Five - European Cakes

“So, how much do you know about European cakes?” Dan had asked Phil, over the phone on Tuesday morning.

Phil had laughed. “More than I did before I was cast for the Bake Off. How much do you know about them?”

“Probably about the same as you. I was researching for ideas and I realised that I’ve eaten cakes I didn’t even know were European. How do you even prepare for a week like this?”

“By making sure you know as much as you can about the basics. It’s like I said on Sunday. A European cake is still a cake. It’s made using the same techniques and basic ingredients that every other cake is made with. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Standing in the tent, waiting for the judges to enter, Phil thought that his confidence from earlier in the week had gotten lost somewhere on the journey between his kitchen and the Bake Off tent. Being asked to bake European cakes wasn’t the same as being asked to bake chocolate cakes, or biscuits, or bread. Those were the sorts of bakes Phil thought about every day. Most of the time he didn’t even have to think about them – it was all muscle memory.

He rocked back and forth on his toes and looked over his shoulder, to where Dan was stationed towards the back of the tent, behind Louise. Dan looked as confident as ever, but Phil knew him well enough now to know that the outer confidence was at complete odds with the doubt probably brewing inside him.

“Bakers,” said Mel, when she and Sue, and Mary and Paul had entered the tent, “welcome to Week Five, the halfway point of the competition. Congratulations on making it this far.”

“This week,” said Sue, “we’re taking a trip to the continent and sampling bakes from all over Europe. For your signature, Mary and Paul would love you, please, to make a yeast-leavened cake.”

“Your cake can be from anywhere in Europe that you fancy, and flavoured with anything that you like, but the raising agent must be yeast. You have three hours to complete this challenge. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Phil had never made a cake with yeast before he’d started practicing for this challenge, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been forced out of his comfort zone for this competition, and he was sure that it wouldn’t be the last. He got started by mixing up his batter of flour, sugar, yeast, milk, eggs and salt. Then, he added butter and orange and lemon zest, and set it aside. It needed at least an hour to activate the yeast and rise. While it did that, he could work on making his syrup and tempering his chocolate.

“How are you this morning, Phil?” Mel asked, as she and the judges stopped at his bench.

“I’m good, thank you.”

“What’s this you’ve got bubbling away?” Mary asked, peering into the saucepan Phil had on the stove.

He reached over to give it a gentle stir and said, “That’s an orange liqueur syrup. I’m going to soak my cake in it.”

Mary made a pleased, humming noise and leaned back, while Paul said, “And what cake is that?”

“Today I’m making my take on the savarin, from France.”

“Why did you choose the savarin?” Mary asked.

Phil shrugged. “When I was researching, it looked like the lightest, most cakey option. I figured, since I’ve never made anything like this before, I should play to my strengths.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” said Mel, and pinched a piece of the chocolate Phil was going to use for his tempering.

“Have you thought about how you’re going to decorate it?” Paul asked.

“Yes!” Phil said and started counting on his fingers. “I’m going to have Chantilly cream, tempered chocolate, caramel shards and fresh fruit on top.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” Mary said. “Are you sure you’ll have enough time?”

“I should do. I can work on most of it while I’m waiting for the cake to rise or bake. It might just be a rush to get everything on at the end.”

“Remember that a good bake can be ruined by a poor finish,” said Paul, pointing a warning finger, and Phil nodded.

“We’ll get out of your way and let you get on with things,” Mel said, and stole another piece of chocolate as they moved off to Adelina’s bench.

Phil had his chocolate sitting on the edge of his bench to set, and was working on his caramel by the time the judges reached Dan’s bench.

“Good morning, Dan,” Mel said.

He looked up, grinning. “Good morning!”

“You’re in a good mood today,” Paul said. “Are our challenges not intimidating enough for you?”

Dan laughed and shook his head. “The challenges are perfectly intimidating, thanks. It’s just not often that I get to bake cakes with yeast. I don’t know why I haven’t before. It’s exactly the sort of thing people would expect me to do.”

“What are you making for us?” Mary asked.

“Today I’m making Bolo Rei, the Portuguese Christmas cake. They’re packed with fruit. They’re normally massive and take almost all day to make, but I’ve reduced the ingredients so I can make a smaller version.”

“It looks like bread dough,” Paul said, tipping towards him the bowl of batter Dan had set aside to rise.

“It’s very much like bread dough,” Dan said. “When it’s cooked, it’s almost like a fruit bread.”

“Bread is one of your strengths,” Paul said, and Dan nodded.

“Yeah, that’s why I chose this recipe. I’m okay at cakes, but bread is what I’m best at. This seemed like the best of both worlds.”

“We look forward to tasting it,” Mary said. “Good luck.”

Phil let out a small smile. It sounded as if he and Dan were in pretty good positions for now. Neither Mary nor Paul seemed to have any concerns about either of their bakes, so that was a good sign. So long as there were no disasters, things should go exactly as planned.

With his caramel cooling, Phil returned his attention to his cake batter. When he peeked into the bowl, he was pleased to see how much it had risen. He greased his mould and spooned the batter in, and then covered it and set it aside again. It needed to rise at least three-quarters up the mould before it could go in the oven, otherwise it would be tough.

He was just testing his caramel to see if it was hard enough to crack when Dan showed up.

“Hey,” Dan said, checking out the savarin mould Phil had ordered especially for the challenge. “Something smells good over here.”

“Probably the orange syrup,” Phil said and stepped away from his caramel. A few more minutes should do it. “Where’s your cake?”

“In a bowl, rising, with any luck,” Dan said, leaning against Phil’s bench with his arms folded. “So I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh no.”

“Rude.” But Dan couldn’t hide the smirk-smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve been thinking, that a yeast-leavened cake is the perfect half-Dan, half-Phil bake.”

Despite himself, Phil was intrigued. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m good at yeasty things, you’re good at cakey things. Together, we’re perfect for this challenge.”

Phil laughed. “If only we had figured out some way of splicing us into one baker for this week of the competition. We’d have been unstoppable.”

Dan heaved a put-upon sigh. “Yeah. But you’re full of creative ideas. I’m sure you’ll have it figured out for next time.”

Something in Phil’s gut stuttered. Sometimes Dan said things like that, little throwaway comments about what he considered Phil’s talents, compliments so casual it was almost like he wasn’t even thinking about what he was saying. Phil never really knew what to say. Dan was a better baker than him, that was a fact, but that always seemed like too big a declaration after whatever Dan had just said.

Instead, Phil gave a small smile. “I’ll try and get to work on something when I’m not practicing for the competition.”

Dan nodded. “See that you do. And I’d better check on my dough. I’ll see you later.” He tapped Phil’s bench as he turned and walked away.

Phil got his cake in the oven with just forty-five minutes to go. It needed about twenty minutes to cook, so he was cutting it close, but the second rise had taken longer than he’d expected. While the cake was baking, he made his cream, prepared his fruit and laid out his chocolate and caramel shards, so that he wouldn’t be scrambling to find everything at the end.

Phil pulled the cake from the oven and fumbled it over to the cooling rack, where he let it sit for ten minutes, before pouring in the syrup. He let it soak for another five, and then turned it onto the serving plate, before piping on the cream, and arranging the other decorations. He popped on the last blueberry just as Sue called time.

Looking it over as the crew set up to film the judging, Phil pursed his lips. The cake looked good but the decoration wasn’t his finest work. And Paul had warned him about this, too, so that wasn’t going to look good. He sighed and propped his chin on his fist.

“Why so glum?” Louise asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Your cake looks great!”

“I had to rush at the end. Paul’s not going to be happy with me.”

“Will it still taste good?”

“I think so.”

She waved a hand. “Then don’t stress. A cake that doesn’t taste as good as it looks it useless. At least you’ve got it the right way around.”

He huffed a laugh and straightened. She was right. All he’d ever wanted was to bake things that tasted good. If he did that, then he’d succeeded.

The judging started with Mikayla, who had produced a lovely example of a chocolate marble kugelhopf, according to Mary. Louise also did well but Anne’s cake was dry and cracked. Adelina impressed with her mother’s Spanish yoghurt cake. It was simple and easy, but had been perfectly executed and had Paul going back for a second bite.

When they stopped at Phil’s bench, Paul took one look at Phil’s cake and raised an eyebrow. “It’s a bit messy,” he said.

“Sorry. I got it in the oven later than I planned.”

“The cake is lovely and moist,” Mary said, when Paul had laid a slice on a plate for them. “The colour and texture are perfect.”

“You can smell the syrup,” Paul said, before eating the piece he’d speared on his fork.

“The liqueur is definitely there,” said Mary, “but the cream and the fruit cut through it beautifully. It’s a good cake, but it’s been let down by the rushed finish.”

It wasn’t the strong start he’d hoped for and there was an uncomfortable churning in the pit of his stomach. They were far enough into the competition now that the weaker bakers had mostly fallen away; a single mistake could be the difference between being eliminated and progressing to the next week. Sure, being middle of the pack probably wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but once it had become clear that he would be sticking around for a little while, he’d started hoping for better.

Dan’s bake was a beautifully golden ring, studded with nuts and candied fruit, and shining with glaze.

“That smells delicious,” Mary said, smiling. “And it looks so inviting!”

Paul gently lifted the cake so that he could have a look at the bottom and nodded in satisfaction. “It’s well-baked, and I like how you’ve arranged the fruit in a pattern on top.”

He cut a slice and prodded the centre of the cake to check it was completely baked, then they each had a bite.

“It’s like a sweet, alcoholic fruit bread,” Mary said, and Dan laughed. “What did you soak the fruit in?”

“Port,” he said. “I like the kick, but I hope I haven’t made it too strong.”

She shook her head. “Not at all.”

“The texture is excellent,” said Paul. “It’s been well-proved and well-kneaded. It was a smart choice for you, Dan. Good work.”

Dan nodded his gratitude as they turned away and Phil heaved a sigh of relief. So they’d both done well enough to at least sit comfortably in the middle ground. For European Cake Week, Phil could be perfectly happy with average. Some of the most average bakers he’d ever seen had made it almost to the end of the competition just by being average.

Not that Dan could ever be average if he tried. He was the kind of person who couldn’t help drawing attention. He was loud and bright and he swore like a sailor and sang under his breath and he sometimes got that look in his eye that made you sure he was thinking something he shouldn’t be. In some ways, Dan was who Phil had always wanted to be when he was younger, before he realised that the world needed the quiet ones, the shy ones, the ones you could just sit and have a cup of coffee with and not think about the day.

Maybe that was why he and Dan had found it so easy to fall together, once they’d gotten over the weird, strained miscommunications of the first couple of weeks. They were almost perfect balances for each other. Where Dan was active, Phil was thoughtful; where Dan was doubtful, Phil was sure. It was a weird sort of relief, to know that Dan had his back in the tent. It made him feel less alone and less far from home. Sure, there was Louise, too, but there was something about Dan that helped ease the tension in Phil.

“Hey!” Dan’s voice and the hand waving in Phil’s face made him jolt.

“Sorry, what?” Phil blinked to focus his eyes on Dan, who was standing in front of him. Everyone else was moving out of the tent and some of the crew were hovering nearby, waiting to get at Phil’s bench.

“It’s lunchtime,” Dan said and tugged at Phil’s sleeve to get him moving. “Are you coming or what? Because I’m starving and they might have those pumpkin pasties again but we have to be quick or Rory will eat them all.”

Phil couldn’t help but laugh and followed Dan out of the tent. After all, who was he to stand between Dan and his preferred lunch option?

*** * ***

“Today’s technical challenge,” Mel said later that afternoon, “comes to us from Sweden. It’s the Prinsesstarta, or, Princess Cake.”

“The Prinsesstarta is a cake made of three layers of sponge, filled with custard and jam, domed with cream, has a covering of green marzipan and is topped with a delicate pink fondant rose. How hard could it be? You have two hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Looking around the tent, Phil was relieved to see that he wasn’t the only stunned baker there. He’d never heard of this princess cake before, and he couldn’t even begin to imagine what it looked like. Green marzipan had she said? Why was it green?

He pulled the recipe out of the drawer and his mouth dropped open when he saw the twenty-four steps laid out before him. There were so many components that he couldn’t even begin to fathom how they could all get done in time, but standing around gaping wasn’t going to help him, so he poured his milk into a pan and got started on the custard first, because it would need time to chill before he could use it in the cake.

At least making custard was something he could do, and even enjoyed doing. There was something calming about the gentle swirl of the milk in the pan.

“You’re looking very zen, Phil,” Sue said, stopped beside him to watch him whisk his custard into a thick mixture.

He laughed. “Thanks. Give it time. I’m sure I’ll be just as stressed as everyone else by the time the challenge ends.”

“You know, Mel and I couldn’t help but notice that you and Dan have formed a particular friendship these last couple of weeks.”

His whisking arm froze for a split second before he forced it back into action. “Yeah, I guess so. We bonded over bread.”

Sue’s eyebrows rose. “No kidding. Well, I guess it is the Great British Bake Off. If you can’t bond over bread, what can you bond over?”

He chuckled. “Dan’s pretty cool, actually. We just got off on the wrong foot back in Week One, but we’re okay now. We talk on the phone during the week and everything.”

“Do you now? How interesting.” She cast a glance back over her shoulder at Dan, who was pouring his raspberries into a saucepan to get started on his jam. 

She wandered off without saying anything else and Phil shook his head. It was a given that Mel and Sue were a bit strange, and that that was part of their charm, but they each had particular moments when Phil just wasn’t sure what to make of them.

The sponge wasn’t anything especially hard and the most interesting thing about it was that it used cornflour as well as plain flour. He pushed it into the oven and set his timer for twenty minutes. The mixture had looked quite thick, so it would probably take longer, but Phil had realised early on in his baking career that checking his bakes regularly was the only way to really ensure they were properly cooked. There were too many variables on any given day to assume everything would always bake in the same time as it had before.

With that taken care of, he grabbed his pink fondant and went to see how Dan was doing with his rose crafting.

“You know,” said Dan, flattening one of the ten small fondant balls so that he could shape his first petal, “I’m not really a fondant flower kind of guy.”

Phil laughed and tore a piece of fondant off the block to start rolling his first ball. “Really? I never would have guessed.”

Dan’s glance up at him was unimpressed. “I would encourage you to leave the sarcasm to the professionals.”

“And that’s you is it?”

“Of course. I’m 95% sarcasm.”

“What’s the other five?”

Dan smirked. “That would be telling.”

Phil shook his head and started shaping his first petal. “You’re so weird.”

“Takes one to know one, you spork.”

“Do you two rehearse these conversations?” Louise asked, turning to face them with most of her fondant rose already assembled. “Because you sound like some comedy duo off the radio.”

“How did you do that?!” Dan asked, pointing to her flower.

It was a beautiful example of a rose. All the petals were equally sized and perfectly rounded. His own rose, and Dan’s too, was lopsided and clumsy, and it really only looked like a rose if he squinted and tilted his head to the left.

“Oh this?” she asked, as if she weren’t perfectly aware. “It’s nothing. I make them for Darcy’s cakes all the time. Just pinch the bottom and work around the centre gently.”

Phil grimaced but did as she’d instructed and ended up with a rose that wasn’t perfect, but at least wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. Dan, however, still didn’t have much success.

“My hands are too big for this,” he said, and dropped his third attempt on the bench in a mound of icing sugar. “I’ll just use the least bad one.”

“Your hands are pretty big,” Phil said and Dan turned to him with an eyebrow raised in silent query.

“What?” said Phil, gently scooping up his rose and his leftover fondant. “It’s true. You said it yourself.” And he returned to his bench before Dan could say anything else.

Phil took his cake out of the oven thirty minutes after he’d put it in. It was golden brown and was just starting to shrink away from the sides of the tin. All in all, not a bad bake. Once the cake had cooled, he sawed it into three and started assembling.

It wasn’t the most straightforward of cakes. A border of custard was piped around the edge of the base, then a thin layer of jam was spread inside the border. On top of the jam, he spread a mixture of cream and custard, then he put the second sponge on top and repeated the filling. The third sponge when on top of that and then the remaining whipped cream was spooned on top and shaped into a dome. It was strange looking cake, Phil thought as he carried it to the fridge to set. But maybe it would all come together with the marzipan on top.

Not one of the bakers seemed to have any idea what shade of green the marzipan was supposed to be. Dan and Phil had sort of a middle green, and Adelina’s marzipan was a light pastel colour. Anne had produced a not very appealing olive green, while Omar’s was so bright it could probably guide ships safely into harbour.

They all also had varying success getting the marzipan over the cake. Most people, including Phil, had pleats in their marzipan, but at least none of them were doing as badly as Omar, who was having to piece his marzipan onto the cake in sections. Only Louise and Adelina managed to get their marzipan on smoothly.

With just ten minutes to go, Phil got some chocolate melting and piped small cream stars around the base of the cake. He tapped his fingers on the bench while he waited for the chocolate to melt enough and then tossed some into a piping bag to pipe a swirl on top of the cake. Into the very centre of the chocolate swirl, he placed the rose and then dusted off as much stray icing sugar as he could before time was called.

“Well done, bakers,” said Sue. “Please bring up your bakes for judging.”

It was an odd bunch of odd cakes, Phil thought, as he sat back to look at the line of them. Not one of them looked the same as another. It was impossible to tell who had performed the best because none of them knew what the Princess Cake was even supposed to look like.

“Well,” said Paul, when he and Mary entered the tent. “These look interesting. Shall we start with this one?”

Dan’s cake was first in line. 

“The rose isn’t the best I’ve ever seen,” said Mary and even Dan, sitting beside Phil, had to laugh. “The marzipan isn’t evenly layered over the top and you can see folds in it, but the cake has a good height.”

Paul cut a slice out of the cake so that they could see the inside and taste the elements.

“It’s got a good texture,” said Paul, “and the proportion of the cake to the filling is pretty spot on. It’s a good effort.”

They moved onto Anne’s cake next, whose marzipan was overworked and cracked, and then onto Omar, with his bits and pieces of marzipan almost falling off. Then it was Phil’s turn.

“It’s taller than some of the others,” Paul said, cutting a slice.

“The dome is more a peak with this one. It should have a rounder top, like a hill.” Mary made a smooth, round motion with her hand.

Phil wanted to drop his face into his palms but managed to restrain himself by sitting on them.

“There’s a lot of filling,” said Paul. “Maybe a bit too much, for the amount of cake. But the custard and jam are excellent, and the marzipan on the outside isn’t too bad.”

In the end, Adelina came first, with Louise in second. Mary made a point of praising Louise’s fondant rose and Phil patted her hand in congratulations. Anne placed last, with Omar just ahead of her. Mikayla and Rory joined Dan and Phil in the middle of the pack.

“Not too bad, overall,” said Dan, as they stood from their stools to leave the tent. “And now we’ve just got the showstopper to get through and this week will be over.”

“You say that like it will be easy.”

Dan shrugged easily, and stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked. “At least we were able to practise the showstopper. That counts for a lot.”

“Do you always just assume your bakes are going to work?” Phil asked, before he could stop himself.

Dan looked stunned and almost pulled up short. “Umm...what?”

Phil scuffed his feet and wished he could go back in time and snatch the words back before they left his mouth. “You just always talk about your bakes like they’re going to succeed, that’s all, and I know you’re not super confident about everything, so I just wondered why that is.”

Dan was quiet for a moment and then said, “Well, I practise them. A lot. You know that. So there’s no reason to assume they’ll go wrong, and there’s no point getting stuck in my head about it, even though I totally do that anyway. Sometimes I can’t help it. But why stress about a disaster that might not even happen? Who has time for that?”

“...You’re right–”

“I know.”

Phil burst out with a laugh. “Of course you are.”

*** * ***

It was a nice feeling, waiting for the showstopper to begin and knowing he wasn’t in any real danger, a feeling Phil could get used to. There was a lightness in him, as if there was literally nothing in the world to weigh him down. Of course, that could all change in an instant. In a couple of hours, he was sure the tension in his shoulders would be unbearable, so until then, he was going to enjoy it.

“For your European showstopper,” said Mel, “we would like you to make a dobos torte.”

“This Hungarian cake has twelve layers and, traditionally, three tiers. For this challenge, you are only required to make a two-tiered cake. The dobos torte is liberally decorated with caramel, so you will be judged on your sugar work. You have four hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

It helped, Phil had found, to think of the dobos torte as exactly what it was: a cake. A fancy cake, sure, but at the end of the day, still just a cake. When he’d started researching for ideas for this showstopper, he’d been blown away by some of the incredible caramel and sugar work he’d seen, and it had thrown him. How could he be expected to create something like that? His grandma had taught him how to bake when he was ten, and she’d never been able to make anything like that. So then. It was just a sponge cake, with some cream and caramel, and that was as far as he was going to think about it.

Most of the bakers got straight onto making their sponges – twelve layers over two tiers was a lot, after all – but Phil took a different track.

“You’re making buttercream,” Mary observed over the noise of his electric mixer, when she, Paul and Sue stopped at Phil’s bench to check in.

He nodded towards the pan of melted sugar and double cream cooling off to the side. “Caramel buttercream.”

“What about your sponges?” Paul asked. “Aren’t you worried about getting them done?”

“I’m doing simple vanilla sponges today,” Phil said. “I know my cakes. I’ve made them millions of times. They won’t take long to cook, but I need the buttercream to be cold when it goes on the cake, so it’s best to get it in the fridge as soon as possible. Besides, the more I can do early on, the more time I’ll have at the end for decorating.”

“Because we don’t want anymore rush jobs,” said Mary, and Phil nodded.

“So how are you decorating these simple vanilla sponges?” Paul asked.

“Apart from the buttercream, I’m also making caramel shards and almond and hazelnut praline.”

“Okay. Well, it sounds like you have a plan. I just hope you’re right about your cakes.” Paul shook another warning finger, the second Phil had seen in a weekend, and they moved away to speak to someone else. Phil sure was making a point of displeasing Paul during this competition.

With his buttercream in the fridge, Phil moved onto his cakes. Rather than making big cakes and cutting the twelve layers from them, Phil had decided to just make twelve smaller cakes instead.

“It’s risky,” Dan said, when he stopped by on his way back from the fridge. “They need to all be exactly the same. Paul will know if some are more cooked than others. And you’ll have to rotate them through the oven, unless you’ve used your smiles and charm to convince the production team to give you a second oven.”

Phil chuckled, but concentrated on filling his second last tin – the first couple were already in the oven – before looking up. “No second oven for me unfortunately. But I’m not worried. These won’t take as long to cook as the larger cakes, which means they’ll be cool sooner, which means I’ll be able to finish them sooner. You’re not the only man with a plan, Danny.”

Dan gave a self-conscious little laugh and started backing away. “Looks like someone put their confident pants on this morning.”

Phil shook his head, pouring the last of the cake mixture into the twelfth tin. He was feeling confident today, but he’d put that down to the fact that he knew he wasn’t in danger. It was easy to feel confident when that was coupled with knowing exactly how to go about making this cake work. He had learned, a long time ago now, that he had a tendency to do things differently from most people. Luckily for him, those differences had more often than not helped him succeed. If he just stuck to what he knew, he couldn’t go wrong.

From that point on, it was a juggling act. He had a production line of cakes on his bench. At the far end were the cakes that were already cooling, there was the batch that was in the oven and on the other end of the bench were the cakes that still needed baking. Between all that, he was making caramel and preparing the nuts for the praline.

The cakes, when he had them all baked and lined up on the bench from coolest to hottest, were all about the same colour. Phil was certain that they would all taste exactly the same. He cut shards of caramel from the hardened batch on his bench and checked on his praline while he waited for the cakes to finish cooling. Then, finally, he collected his buttercream from the fridge and it was time to put the whole thing together.

He started assembling with an hour on the clock. That was fine; plenty of time. He needed to take care with this bake, to show that he had listened when Paul and Mary spoke of not rushing his decorations. So he took his time sandwiching all the layers together with buttercream, and then with smoothing more cream around the outside. He made sure the edges and the corners were perfectly straight and smooth. He gently dropped the top tier onto the centre of the bottom cake and then went back to fix the buttercream he’d smeared.

Someone somewhere was having some kind of crisis. He could hear someone buzzing around, talking about needing more sugar and another saucepan, but he drowned it out by snapping his praline into irregular pieces and sticking them to the outside of the cake. He spooned the buttercream that was left into a piping bag and piped rosettes around the top edge of the two tiers.

Mel shouted from the back of the tent that there was just one minute to go and Phil sucked in a breath. He dropped a caramel-coated hazelnut on each piped rosette, and then broke his plain caramel into shards. With just seconds to spare, he speared the shards into the top of the cake and stepped away from his bench.

He was gasping and gulped down some water to help ease his breathing. With the haze clearing, he realised that everything was sticky. He was covered in sugar, in various states of melting, and there was buttercream smeared on his favourite pair of jeans. Dropped caramel shards were turning to dust under his feet where he kept stepping on them. But he had a cake. And a good one, too. It had never looked so nice when he’d practised it at home.

Anne went up for judging first and it wasn’t a good start. Her cake was lopsided, drooping low on the left, and her sugar work was minimal. It hadn’t been a good week for her, which was disappointing. Phil hadn’t spent a huge amount of time speaking to her, but she’d always been kind and smiley when they had talked. It would be a shame if she was eliminated.

Omar and Rory also failed to impress Mary and Paul but, just when Phil was starting to worry that they would have to taste a series of not very nice cakes, Adelina went up with her almond cakes and chocolate caramel buttercream. Finally, a cake that had not only succeeded, but tasted good enough to have Mary and Paul “Ohh-ing” and “Ahh-ing” over her flavours and caramel.

Then, it was Dan’s turn.

Phil hadn’t had much time to leave his bench during the showstopper so he hadn’t been able to appreciate Dan’s cake until he carried it up to the front of the tent and set it in front of the judges.

“You’ve made three tiers,” Mary said.

Dan nodded and folded his hands in front of him. “It’s salted caramel and chocolate.”

“The three tiers coupled with the caramel nest on top give it an impressive height,” Paul said.

“Much like yourself, Dan,” Sue said and everyone laughed.

“I like that you’ve interspersed the caramel shards with chocolate shards,” Mary said and picked off a piece of chocolate to snap it in half. “And perfectly tempered too.”

Paul cut a slice from each tier so that they could pick apart all of the layers. “They all look evenly baked and all the layers are equal in size.”

Then, they tasted. Phil chewed his lip while he waited.

“I think there’s a bit too much salt in the caramel,” said Mary. “It’s almost right, but you’ve taken it just a bit too far.”

Paul nodded. “I agree. If you’d left the salt out of the caramel buttercream, and just put it in the caramel decorations, it would have made a much smoother balance. Thanks, Dan.”

Dan took his cake back and sent Phil a shrug on his way back to his bench. He didn’t look too upset by the less than stellar judging, but it was with good reason. Dan hadn’t done badly enough to throw himself into the danger zone, and there were bakers who had performed a lot worse than him.

Mikayla and Louise were judged next and then, finally, it was Phil’s turn.

“Lucky last,” said Mel. “Phil, please bring up your bake for judging.”

Standing back from his bake and looking at it on the judge’s table, Phil had to stifle a smile.

It must have shown through anyway, because Paul smirked and said, “Happy, Phil?”

He nodded. “Yes. I achieved what I set out to do.”

“You baked individual cakes, is that right?” Mary asked as she looked over the outside of the cake.

“That’s right. Twelve cakes.”

“Your caramel looks good,” said Paul. “It’s a great colour. The praline looks great too.”

As he’d done with Dan’s cake, Paul cut a slice from each tier and scraped a fork through the layers. “The bake looks pretty even on all of them. That’s impressive, given you had to bake them all in batches.”

They took a bite each and Phil stuck his hands in his pockets to stop himself wringing his fingers.

“It’s delicious,” said Mary. “The cakes are so light and the buttercream is beautifully smooth.”

“And you haven’t rushed this time,” Paul said with that pleased twinkle in his eye.

Finally, Phil allowed himself a proper smile. “Not this time.”

He was grinning when he returned to his bench, and hadn’t stopped by the time they were all lining up for the results.

“You’re starting to look manic,” Dan said, perched on the stool beside Phil’s.

Phil laughed. “Sorry. I’m just happy. I did what none of the other bakers did, and I was praised for it. See? It pays to be different.”

Dan couldn’t mask his own smile, so he turned away so that Phil could only see it in profile. “Okay, Phil.” Dan tilted his head a little and glanced back at Phil. “You think you’ll take star baker again?”

But Phil shook his head, his smile dimming just a little. “I was too average yesterday.”

“People have won on the back of an amazing showstopper before.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think I have. Adelina’s cake tasted like a mouthful of heaven.”

Dan opened his mouth to argue further, as if he felt the need to convince Phil of his own potential to win, but was cut off mid-breath by Mary, Paul, Mel and Sue returning to the tent.

Sue rubbed her hands together and rocked on her toes. “Bakers, I’m lucky enough to have the fun job today. This week’s star baker impressed from start to finish. Their yeast-leavened cake was elegant in its simplicity, and their showstopper blew the judges away. Adelina, congratulations, you are our star baker.”

Adelina clapped her hands to her cheeks and laughed around a grin. All the bakers applauded, and Phil made sure to clap hard. He had the weird feeling that, the more people were eliminated, the harder he should clap, to make up for all the people who weren’t there to do it.

“Unfortunately,” said Mel, “that means I’ve got the tough job. The further we get into this, the harder it is to let one of you go. But Mary and Paul have made their decision. I’m sad to say, that the baker leaving us today is...Anne.”

Phil’s smile drooped as Anne slipped off her stool to hug Mel and Sue.

Beside him, Dan was looking contemplative. “It’s funny isn’t it, how we’re surrounded by these people we didn’t even know existed a couple of months ago, but how we all get so sad when someone gets eliminated?”

Phil’s breath caught. It was strange. He could hardly believe that, two months ago, he wouldn’t have known Dan from Adam if they’d passed each other on the street. But now he couldn’t go back to that pre-Dan life. Until the day he died, no matter how long they stayed friends, Phil would now always be a man who knew Dan Howell, who had talked with him until they were both literally falling asleep, who had helped and been helped by him. And the thought of Dan being eliminated, it hadn’t properly crossed Phil’s mind since they’d become friends, but it made his stomach clench so painfully that he pressed his fists into it.

“Are you okay?” Dan asked. “You’re looking really pale, I mean, more than usual. When was the last time you ate? Are you going to be sick? Or faint or something? I’ll get the medic–”

Phil grabbed his arm to stop him taking off into the crowd for help, and forced him back to his seat. “I’m fine. Really,” he insisted when Dan looked skeptical. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long weekend.”

Dan nodded slowly, as if he was unsure about whether or not he should believe him. “A weekend that we both survived. We’re now officially past the halfway point. Can you believe that?”

Phil shook his head. “It’s pretty crazy. Let’s just…” He was still stuck on the idea of Dan not being beside him in the tent anymore. “Let’s just do everything we can to keep going. We’re on a roll, after all. Can’t fall off now.” He forced a laugh and tried to brighten his face into a smile.

“Agreed. We’ve still got a long way to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil’s signature: [ Savarin with Chantilly cream](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/savarin_with_chantilly_30509) (Paul’s recipe)   
> Technical: [ Prinsesstårta](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/prinsesstrta_17336) (Mary’s recipe)   
> Phil’s showstopper: [ Dobos torte](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/dobos_torte_82293) (Mary’s recipe)


	6. Week Six - Desserts

“Bakers,” said Mel, “this morning I have three words for you: Self. Saucing. Puddings.”

“Well, actually,” said Sue, “‘self-saucing’ is hyphenated so that's really only two words.”

Mel flapped a hand at her. “We’ll get into that later. Bakers, Paul and Mary would like you to please make six self-saucing puddings. No manual saucing. When we cut into those delicious puds, they should be saucing themselves. You have two and a half hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Week six. Phil almost didn't believe he'd made it so far but there he was, carefully weighing out flour and reminding himself that he wasn’t allowed to eat his ingredients at least until he'd finished using them.

“Good morning, Phil!” said Sue when she and the judges stopped in front of his bench.“What are you making for us this morning?”

“Today I’m making chocolate volcanoes.” He couldn’t help but smile at the pleased looks on Mary’s and Paul’s faces.

“Chocolate volcanoes?” asked Sue. “That sounds like a pudding I can get behind.”

Phil laughed. “Everyone in my family loves them. They’re basically like chocolate explosions. You cut into them and chocolate oozes out everywhere.”

“They sound very indulgent,” said Mary. “What’s the most challenging part of the bake for you?”

“Allowing enough time to chill them. They need to sit in the fridge before I can bake them. It’s a bit of a rush getting them into the fridge with enough time left over to actually bake them.”

“Are you worried they’ll stick in the moulds?” Paul asked, looking around for the tray.

“That took some trial and error when I first started making them,” Phil admitted, “but I found that the easiest way to stop them sticking is to dust the moulds with cocoa powder and then refrigerate them.” 

Paul nodded approvingly. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control for now, and they sound delicious so I hope they work out.”

Phil nodded and had already almost forgotten they were even there by the time he’d set about whisking up his wet ingredients. At that point, he had a moment to breathe while he waited for the mixture to achieve the consistency he was looking for.

“All right today, Phil?” asked Louise, who was stationed behind him. “Not feeling lonely?”

He frowned and shook his head. “Lonely?”

She smirked. “Well, Dan’s over on the other side of the tent this weekend. I thought you might be having some kind of separation anxiety.”

“Of course I’m not,” he replied, but he felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “We don’t spend that much time together.”

She arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “You talk all the time. You’re always over at each other’s benches. You sit together at lunch and dinner and it’s like no one else around you exists. And Dan was telling me this morning about something you were telling him during the week. So you’re even talking when we’re not here. People on the production team have started calling you ‘Dan and Phil’, like you’re one person, did you know that? I’ve heard them.”

“...Really?” Phil wasn’t sure what to make of that. He really hadn’t noticed how much time they spent together. At this point, it just felt natural to seek out Dan after they’d finished a bake. After all, they’d spent all week practicing together, so Dan was the only one Phil could really debrief with. If the conversation moved on to other things after that, it wasn’t like either of them planned it. It just happened.

One thing he knew was that he wasn’t about to admit to Louise that he and Dan had progressed to Skype over the previous week. Phil had spent hours in his kitchen, preparing for the dessert challenges, with his laptop sitting on top of the microwave, showing Dan in his own kitchen at the other end of the country. It had just seemed practical at the time – it was easier to explain or share something if they could see what the other was doing, and there was no danger of spilling something on his phone, or losing it under a pile of ingredients.

“Yes, really,” said Louise. “If you two weren’t so obviously good at balancing each other out, I might be worried.”

They had to stop talking after that. Phil’s wet mixture was ready and he needed to focus on folding in his flour without knocking any air out of it, but he had to do it quickly enough that he could divide the mixture between the moulds and then get them in the fridge.

Once that was done it was a waiting game. He lingered at his bench for a little while, half-heartedly mopping up some spilled egg yolk, before he realised he was glancing over at Dan every few seconds anyway and decided to just give in. He tried not to feel self-conscious as he crossed the tent but, after what Louise had told him, he could feel everyone’s eyes on his back.

All that flew out of his mind when he arrived at Dan’s bench, though. It looked like a bomb had hit it. There were utensils everywhere, a bowl of some unidentifiable wet mixture was perched precariously on the edge of the bench, pots and pans were piling up in the sink, and Phil could barely see the work surface under the mess of flour strewn about.

“What happened here?” he asked, aghast. “It looks like, well...it looks like my bench.”

There was a wild look in Dan’s eyes. “I had to start again. I over-mixed my ingredients. Everything went flat. It was a disaster.” He flung an arm out over his bench. “This is a disaster. I’m so behind.”

“Okay,” said Phil, trying to sound soothing. “Don’t panic. Just take it one step at a time.”

“I’m not going finish.”

“Yes, you will.” Phil had never heard himself sound so firm. “This is all in your head, okay? You’re normally so prepared and on schedule that falling out of that has thrown you off.” He heard a timer go off behind him and knew it was his own, telling him to get his puddings in the oven. “Just take a breath and work through everything methodically. Everything will be fine.”

He returned to his station, put his puddings in the oven, and kept an eye on Dan as well as he could while he was preparing his serving plate. Even from across the tent he could see it wasn’t going well. Phil took his puddings out of the oven with minutes to spare, pleased to see they weren’t cracked on the top, and turned them out easily onto his plate – just before time was called, he would dust them with a bit of icing sugar and they would be perfect. Behind him, Louise gasped.

“Oh, Phil!” she said. “They look lovely!”

He beamed. “Thanks. Hopefully the judges like them.” But he knew, secretly, that they would. He’d made these a hundred times, and that wasn’t even counting all the extra practice he’d put in over the last week. They were dense and gooey, and perfect in colour. What was not to like?

But Dan’s luck, Phil found, when he crossed the tent again, hadn’t turned.

He crouched down beside Dan and peered into the oven. He grimaced and checked the temperature. “You better take them out. Why did you turn the oven so high?”

Dan sighed and pulled the oven door open, letting out a blast of heat. “I didn’t have a choice. I ran out of time. It was either turn the heat up or serve Mary and Paul a bowl of soup. Do you think they’re really bad?”

Phil looked up from where he was inspecting Dan’s puddings. “You’re asking me?”

“You’re the dessert expert, Phil. I’m good at eating them, but making them is something else.”

Hearing that made something clench is Phil’s chest. For so long he’d thought of Dan as a better baker than him – he was always so calm and methodical and put together – but he saw now that that wasn’t true. Dan was no better a baker than him or anyone else in the tent. Dan had his strengths and Phil had strengths of his own. When Phil had needed advice about his bread and pastry, Dan was the first and only person he would have gone to. And now here Dan was, asking advice about the thing he knew Phil was good at. He would have smiled, if he didn’t have Dan’s tray of puddings in front of him.

Instead, he sighed, and pointed out the cracks on the tops of the puddings. “These mean that they’ve started cooking inside. You won’t know how much until you cut one open.”

Dan’s shoulders sank. “Great. So they’re ruined.”

“They’ll still taste good. Sticky toffee is never bad.”

“They could be the best tasting things Paul and Mary have ever eaten, but if they’re not self-saucing, it won’t matter.”

“One minute left!” Mel called, and Phil knew they didn’t have time to discuss it anymore.

“Don’t worry about that now,” he reassured Dan. “Let’s just get them onto a plate.”

The moulds were still hot but, together, they turned them out. A couple stuck a little but a few gentle taps dislodged them without too much damage.

“Thanks, Phil,” Dan said with a small smile, and Phil reached out to rub his elbow in an awkward attempt at comfort before returning to his bench. He had just enough time to sprinkle some icing sugar over his puddings before they called time and they all had to step away.

Dan’s side of the tent was judged first and Dan was right up front.

“They look a bit dry,” Mary said and Paul cut one open with a spoon.

“They are dry,” he said. “There’s a small amount of what could be sauce in the centre but, otherwise, they’re completely overcooked.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dan said, shaking his head. “I’m actually ashamed to serve them to you.”

“Well, they taste all right,” said Mary. “Shame about the rest.”

As the judges moved on, Dan swiped a frustrated hand through his hair and Phil sighed. He wanted Dan to do well. Sure, it was a competition, but it felt less and less like one as the weeks went on. Mostly it just felt like he was getting together in a big tent every week to bake with his friends.

The judges were impressed by Louise’s apple crumble-inspired creation, with it’s crunchy, biscuity top and moist bottom. Mikayla also did well, but Adelina had had an even worse time than Dan – at least his puddings had cooked; hers were barely holding their shape.

“Wow,” said Mary, when they stopped at Phil’s bench. “Don’t these look special, and so tempting.”

“They have a really good colour,” Paul said and tapped one gently with a spoon. “Good height, too, and they’re well-baked on the outside. Let’s have a look at the middle.”

He dug his spoon in and pulled one half of the pudding away. The creamy, chocolatey inside poured out onto the plate and there were “Oohs,” from around the tent, and a “Wow!” from Mel.

“Now, that is what I call a self-saucing pudding,” said Paul and he and Mary each took a bite.

“Mmm,” said Mary and she winked at him. “That’s a bit of all right.”

“That is perfect,” said Paul. “In fact…” He dipped his spoon in again and took a second bite, and then he reached over the bench to shake Phil’s hand. “Well done, Phil. I’m impressed.”

They walked away and Phil felt like he might float off into the atmosphere. They’d liked his puddings. No. They’d more than liked them, they had loved them. Paul had gone back for seconds and shaken his hand. It was more than Phil could ever have hoped for.

“Well done, Phil,” Louise whispered and Dan shot him a thumbs up from across the tent.

Things could turn in the blink of an eye in the tent, but if he could keep this up, he might be in the running for star baker. He didn’t like to expect too much because it often set him up for disappointment but a little bit of hope couldn’t hurt.

*** * ***

“Good afternoon, bakers,” said Mel. “This afternoon’s technical challenge has been set by Mary. Do you have any words of advice for our bakers?”

Phil leaned forward over this bench, as if that might help him hear her more clearly and give him some kind of edge.

“Read the recipe carefully,” Mary said, “and then try and visualise exactly what it should look like at the end.”

“Right,” said Sue, “well, thank you for those pearls of wisdom. Now, off you and Paul pop for that afternoon nap. Nevermind the rest of us in here, slaving away.”

When Mary and Paul had gone, Mel turned to the bakers and explained, “Okay, today, we’d like you to make Mary’s version of a Spanische Windtorte.”

Phil was sure his mouth dropped open. A Spanish what?

“This is a meringue cake,” Mel continued. “Two types of meringue, cream, strawberries, and raspberries. You’ve got four hours to complete this challenge. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Everyone grabbed their recipes and, presumably, read the recipe carefully, as Mary had advised. Not that there was a whole lot of the recipe there to be read. Most of the instructions were about the assembly, which would certainly help at the pointy end of the challenge, but instructions like “Make the Swiss meringue” were not what Phil would call helpful.

“What are we even making?” Louise asked, sounding as lost as Phil felt.

He shrugged and reached for his eggs. “If you figure it out, can you let me know?”

This bake was a tricky one, maybe the trickiest they’d done to date. Rings and discs of French meringue, piped and baked to form what Phil could only imagine as a set of flat meringue bowls, into which they would...spoon cream and fruit? That must be right. How many other options could there be? He shook his head at himself. He shouldn’t think like that. All he could do was make his meringues as best he could and then figure out how to put it all together later. And hey, at least he’d made meringue before, so he knew what he was looking for as he whipped his egg whites. Omar clearly didn’t have a clue what he was doing.

He set his timer and made sure to leave it somewhere he could clearly see it – the last thing Phil wanted was for his meringue to crack and brown – and then sat down to figure out his decorative violets. They’d been provided with three colours of fondant: yellow, and two types of purple, one dark and one light. With these he was somehow supposed to make thirteen violets, which he would use to decorate his meringue structure. Now if only Phil could remember what a violet looked like, or if he’d ever even seen a violet at any point in his life.

He started out by rolling out small circles of purple. It would make sense to use the purple for the petals. After all, they were called violets, not lemon yellows.

“Phil?”

Phil looked up from his fondant, at Dan who had appeared at the end of his bench. “Yeah?”

“...Do you know what a violet looks like?”

Phil laughed and held up the flattened purple fondant circles he was holding in one hand. “Does it look like I know what a violet looks like? So far I’ve figured out that they have purple petals.”

Dan’s shoulders slumped. “Same. Mine are just going to be purple blobs at this rate.”

“Just make them vaguely flower-shaped. That’s all I can do too. Besides, Mary and Paul will probably be more interested in how the dessert looks and tastes than whether you’ve accurately represented the violets.”

“Probably.” Dan’s tone was dry and disbelieving.

Phil shrugged. “Well yeah. I mean, we are baking for Mary Berry.” He grinned. “No pressure!”

Dan rolled his eyes but there was a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he turned away. “Thanks for nothing, Phil.”

At least Dan didn’t seem too damaged by the morning’s bake. Dan was the kind of person who could be completely knocked off course if his confidence took a hit, if he felt like he was making a fool of himself for all the wrong reasons. But at the same time, Dan was the most confident person Phil knew. Dan knew that he could bake, and bake well, so why shouldn’t he be listened to and rewarded accordingly? In others it might have seemed like arrogance, but Dan…Dan had that teasing look in his eyes and that half-smirk/half-smile that Phil just wanted to…

What? Phil wanted to what? He wanted to…

“Phil?”

He startled and shook his head to clear it, then turned to Louise. She was staring at him with her brow lightly furrowed. “Yeah?”

“…Are you okay? You were just…staring off into space.”

“Was I?” His voice squeaked a bit and he cleared his throat. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

Her mouth pulled to one side, and she clearly wanted to pester him more, but she huffed and jerked her head in the direction of his oven. “Well, snap out of it. There’s plenty of time for that later. The middle of a technical challenge is not the time to wander off with the fairies.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “You’re right.” And he turned his attention back to his violets.

He didn’t do the best job with his flowers but at least they had petals. Or at least what looked like petals. That had to count for something. Once he’d cobbled them together, he set to work on his Swiss meringue, which was marshmallowy and delicious, and then started assembling.

All he could hear from around the tent were bakers repeating the instructions to themselves. Things like, “Divide the cream and mix half with half the berries,” and, “Put half the berries and cream into the first ring layer”. Behind him, Louise was whispering it over and over, sounding harsher and harsher as time went on, as if the recipe were a spell she was trying to use to summon a perfect Spanische Windtorte.

“This is a disaster,” Dan sing-songed from across the tent and Phil glanced up to check out Dan’s bake. There was a crack up the side – there was no getting around that – but at least it was white and not vaguely brown like Adelina’s was. But Adelina might have been dealt the better hand because at least hers was structurally sound. The crack in Dan’s meringue had weakened it. Already, Phil could see some of the cream oozing out on to the cake stand underneath.

“Fffff…” Dan looked up at a camera and then cleared his throat, even as his hands were scrambling along the bench for something, anything, to help him. “I mean, damn. I need to…fix this. I need to fix this. How am I going to fix this?”

“Five minutes, bakers!” Mel called, and there was the ritual flurry of panic-induced activity.

Phil’s heart was beating rabbit quick as he piped cream in a fairly neat line around the centre of his dessert. He still had to do the piping on the lid and place the violets, but he thought he was going to make it. Maybe just. It was tempting to rush but that was just a recipe for disaster. He would make fewer mistakes if he just took his time. He managed to place the last violet just as Sue yelled, “That’s it! Time is up! Bakers, please bring your Windtortes up to the gingham altar.”

Phil heaved a sigh and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, before gently taking up his cake stand and setting it behind the photo of himself. He took a seat beside Dan – the seat, he couldn’t help but notice, that everyone left spare – and scanned the table for Dan’s dessert.

“Which one’s yours?” Phil asked.

“The one that looks like it’s been dropped,” Dan mumbled from where he had hidden his face behind his hands.

“It can’t be that bad,” Phil said, and then he saw it, last in line. He bit his lip. “It’s not that bad.”

Dan shook his head. “It is. It is that bad. Oh god. I can’t believe this is happening.”

It was…pretty bad, Phil had to admit. One side was lopsided, the piping was messy, the violets were still coated in icing sugar, and not in a decorative way. It was the least Dan-looking bake Phil had ever seen.

Phil patted one of Dan’s shoulders. “It’ll be fine.”

Dan shook his head. “After this morning? It won’t be fine.” Finally, he lifted his face from his hands, looked up at Phil, and immediately burst out laughing.

Phil frowned. “What?” Had all the stress gone to Dan’s head? Had he completely lost it? Surely it was too early in the competition for that.

“Phil!” Dan was laughing so hard he was clutching his sides. “What have you got on your face?!” He reached out and Phil didn’t even have time to think about pulling away before Dan was dusting something off his forehead and inspecting his fingers. “Is that icing sugar? You’re covered in it. Phil, you’re hopeless.” He sounded almost fond.

Phil felt his cheeks heat up but he couldn’t help but smile at Dan wiping the tears from his eyes. Dan happy was like lightning. It lit up the room and crackled through the air, drawing everyone’s attention and kept them waiting for the next spark.

“Dan and Phil?” called one of the producers. “Keep it together, guys. We’re waiting for you.”

Dan pursed his lips and straightened, composing himself so well that no one would have known he’d been losing it just moments before if not for the redness of his cheeks. “Sorry.”

Phil pulled himself up, too, and tried to look interested while they shot Mary and Paul entering the tent…but he kept looking back to Dan…whose mouth twitched before he subtly elbowed Phil into paying attention.

“Right,” said Paul. “Let’s start over here, shall we?”

Adelina’s dessert was judged first and Mary and Paul were not impressed. Meringue overbaked and brown, cream over-whipped, it wasn’t good. Omar’s dessert wasn’t crisp enough, but Louise performed well, with only a comment made about the lack of height in her meringue. Phil’s dessert was next.

“This looks very good,” said Mary, bending down to get a look at the sides. “Good height. The piping is neat. The violets are…”

“Interesting,” Paul said and raised his eyebrows at the group. Phil stifled a laugh but if unrealistic violets were the most of his worries, he would sleep well.

Paul tapped the meringue lightly with a spoon and nodded approvingly, before cutting a slice. There was a satisfying crunch as the knife went through the layers.

“It’s very well put together,” Mary said. “The meringue is lovely and crisp on the outside but chewy in the middle. The cream is very good.”

“That Swiss meringue is excellent,” agreed Paul. “Like marshmallow. Perfect, really.”

Perfect. Phil smiled. His Spanische Windtorte was perfect…not that he would be making it again anytime soon. Life was too short for the amount of effort that dessert required.

Mikayla was judged next and got a generally good review, and then Mary and Paul came to the end of the table and stopped in front of Dan’s dessert.

“Well,” said Paul, and Dan shrank a little in his seat. “Where do we start? The piping is terrible and half of it has collapsed.”

“The violets are nice, even if they are covered in icing sugar,” said Mary, and Paul rolled his eyes with a chuckle.

They cut a slice and the dessert collapsed further. Dan winced and almost hid his face again.

“The French meringue hasn’t been dried out enough,” said Paul, “and the Swiss meringue is under-whipped.”

“The cream is good,” Mary conceded, “but, overall, disappointing.”

Phil’s heart sank while they waited for the judges to decide on the ranking, and slid his hands under his thighs so he could cross his fingers without anyone noticing. All he wanted was for Dan not to be last, but he knew he was hoping against hope. Sure enough…

“In last place…” said Paul and moved over to Dan’s dessert. “Whose is this?”

Dan raised a reluctant hand.

“Dan.” Paul shook his head. “What can I say? You know where you went wrong.”

Dan nodded and folded his arms across his chest, turning his face away.

In the end, Louise placed second and, to no one’s surprise, Phil came in first. The applause sounded hollow in Phil’s ears. Maybe he wouldn’t be sleeping well after all.

*** * ***

Dan didn’t come down to dinner. Phil kept glancing at the empty seat next to him, as if he would look up one moment and find that Dan had magically appeared there, but every time he was disappointed.

He was scraping his fork lightly around the edge of his plate when Louise gave him a little shove. “Phil, stop being silly and go find him. Take some food with you too. He hasn’t eaten since lunch, and even that wasn’t very much. He’s probably starving. Or he would be, if he weren’t wallowing.”

“He obviously doesn’t want company.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Since when are you ‘company’? Anyway, isn’t this why you guys started talking? To support each other? Well, Dan’s had a terrible day and, I hate to say it, but he might be eliminated tomorrow. Right now, of all times, he needs support.”

It only took a moment to sink in and then he was nodding. “You’re right.”

Louise smiled. “Of course I am.” And then she turned to speak to Omar, who was sitting on her other side.

Phil packed a plate with chicken and salad, grabbed some cutlery, and headed up to Dan’s room. He only hesitated for a moment before he knocked. There was a minute of complete silence and then Phil knocked again. Still, the door went unanswered. Phil sighed. If Dan really didn’t want company, there was nothing Phil could do about it. He couldn’t exactly kick the door down, could he? But he would try just one more time so, again, he knocked.

“Dan? Dan! It’s Phil. Are you okay? Can I come in?”

The silence was so heavy Phil thought he was going to have to turn away and give up, but then he heard the faint click of the lock turning and the door edged open. One of Dan’s eyes was visible through the crack but he kept the door ajar.

“What’s up, Phil?” His voice was soft and weary.

Phil held up the plate like a peace offering. “I’ve brought you some dinner.”

Dan shook his head. “I’m not very hungry.”

Phil tutted and tried not to think how much he sounded like his mother. “You still have to eat, otherwise you’ll be hungry all night and you won’t get any sleep and tomorrow is a big day.”

Dan scoffed. “Yeah, a big day for my elimination.”

“No one is saying you’re going to get eliminated.”

Dan shot him a look that was nothing if not disbelieving. “Really, Phil? So no one is sitting down there talking about me and how lucky they are that I’ve so clearly fucked up?”

Phil chose not to mention Louise’s comment and shook his head. “No. So let me in before this chicken gets any more cold than it probably already is.”

Dan sighed as if he’d lost a battle and pulled the door open, waving Phil inside almost mockingly.

Dan’s room was neater than Phil’s. His clothes and toiletries were stacked orderly in his bag near the window. A Harry Potter book was flung on the bed with a black bookmark sticking out from between the pages. A half-empty water bottle was sitting on the bedside table. The TV was off, but the scent of Dan’s shower gel was hanging in the air so he must have showered not too long ago.

Phil passed the plate over and Dan crawled into the centre of his bed with it. He settled himself with his legs crossed under him and started picking at the lettuce leaves with complete disinterest. Phil hovered awkwardly by the door with his hands folded into his pockets and tried not to shuffle his feet. Now that he’d been let into the room, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do. If only he’d taken the time to think of something to say.

Dan glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. “Well are you going to stand there all night or are you going to sit down?”

“Oh! Sure. Thank you.” He took a step towards the chair in the opposite corner of the room and then hesitated, eyeing the edge of the bed. People didn’t normally sit on each other’s beds without an invitation. It was weird and kind of awkward...but Dan was his friend – a closer friend than he should be, given how little a time they’d known each other – and Phil was feeling brave. So he perched on the edge of the bed and half-turned so he could watch Dan.

Dan, for his part, seemed unconcerned by Phil’s seating choice and focused his eyes on his plate.

“Seriously,” said Phil. “Eat something. Please. The last thing I want is for you to get caught on camera passing out from low blood sugar.”

Dan huffed a reluctant laugh and scraped some chicken away and forked it into his mouth.

Phil thought they were going to sit there in silence but, after Dan had shovelled a slice of cucumber into his mouth, Dan said, “Is this how you felt, during bread week?”

Phil shrugged. “Dunno. How do you feel right now?”

“Hollow. Numb. I keep replaying the whole day in my head, going over my choices again and again, trying to figure out which one could have saved me if I’d just done it differently.”

“You can’t torture yourself like that. It’s done now. All you can do is go out there tomorrow and bake the best you can. Don’t let yourself go out on a bake that you haven’t put your all into.”

“It all just seems so hopeless. And so...demoralising. Like, the one thing I’ve always been able to do is bake. I mean, yeah, I had to learn it and practise it, but it always just came really naturally to me, you know? Some people can write, some people can paint, some people are great athletes. Baking was always my thing. And now I can’t even bake a bloody meringue properly.”

“It’s different here–”

“No it’s not!” Dan looked up, eyes red, and thumped the bed so hard that one of the cherry tomatoes in his salad tumbled off the plate and rolled down the bed. “The oven is different, the equipment is different, but I’m still the same. My skills haven’t changed. So if I fail, it’s on me. It’ll be because I’m not good enough.”

There was a pain in Phil’s chest listening to Dan rant and rave. He turned fully onto the bed and pulled his knees up under him, grabbing Dan’s wrist and squeezing. “Stop! You are good enough–”

“I’m not! I’m even failing at my uni degree!”

“Yeah but, Dan, you’re studying something that you hate. Why don’t you drop out and go to culinary school instead? You’ve obviously got what it takes. No one gets into the tent in the first place if they’re not the best of the best. I know you know that. Stop letting your own insecurities ruin you!”

All at once, Dan slumped, as if all the fight had gone out of him. He turned his face away and tried to muffle a sniffle. “I’m not ready to go home yet.”

“Then don’t. Pull out all the stops tomorrow. Show them that the last thing they should do is eliminate you. I’ll help you in whatever way I can. I – I don’t want you to go home either. [Half the fun of doing this competition is doing it with you.](http://phanmily.tumblr.com/post/153716210529/phandom-big-bang-2016-im-so-bad-at-backgrounds)”

Dan looked up at him and a wobbly smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Same. Thanks, Phil.” He glanced back down at his plate and nudged the leftover cherry tomatoes across it towards Phil. “Do you want these? I hate raw tomatoes.”

Phil smiled, plucked a tomato off the plate, and popped it in his mouth.

*** * ***

Showstopper day dawned grey and gusty. Dan was quiet at breakfast but Phil managed to force him to scoff down some pancakes to set him off on the right foot. They walked to the tent at the back of the pack and Phil managed to squeeze Dan’s elbow before they split off to their benches. He kept an eye on Dan while they waited for Mary, Paul, Mel, and Sue to arrive; Dan was straight-backed and focused. No matter what happened today, Phil knew that no one would be able to say Dan went down without a fight.

“Good morning, bakers!” said Sue. “And welcome to your showstopper challenge.”

“Today,” Mel continued, “Mary and Paul would like you to make that 70s classic: a Baked Alaska. It must have a sponge base, ice-cream in the middle, and a casing of delicious meringue. You have five hours to complete this challenge. Good luck. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

The ice-cream was going to be the biggest challenge of the day. It wasn’t warm outside, that was true, but the temperature was higher in the tent, with everyone packed inside under the lights and camera equipment. Plus, everyone would be constantly opening the freezers to check on their ice-cream, which wouldn’t help it set any quicker. The sooner Phil could get his ice-cream underway, the better.

“Good morning, Phil,” said Mel.

Phil smiled up at her and the judges. “Good morning.”

“What are you making for us today?” Mary asked, her hands folded delicately on the edge of the bench.

“I’m making a tropical Baked Alaska today. I’m doing a coconut sponge and a mango ice-cream.”

“A coconut sponge?” Paul asked. “Will the taste come through?”

“Yes,” said Phil. “I use coconut milk and dessicated coconut in the batter so it definitely tastes like coconut. It’s a really moist cake, but it holds it’s shape really well, and the dessicated coconut adds some texture.”

Mary nodded. “It sounds delicious. We’ll leave you to get on with it.”

They walked away and Phil heaved a sigh of relief. Having the judges around always made him feel itchy, as if they could pick apart his method just by reading his mind. Baking was just easier when they weren’t around.

He was on edge while he waited for his ice-cream to thicken but tried to put it out of his mind by starting on his sponge. He’d never been so good at multi-tasking since he’d come to the Bake Off tent. He could hear Louise pottering around behind him, working on her cherry and chocolate creation, but tuned her out when he saw the judges arrive at Dan’s bench.

“How are you doing today, Dan?” Mel asked.

“Okay, I think. Yesterday was a bit of a disaster for me, obviously, but I’m planning to really make the most of today and try to impress you.”

“What are you making?” Paul asked.

“I’m doing a coffee-caramel sponge and a black sesame ice-cream.”

“Black sesame?” Mary repeated. “How interesting.”

“It looks a bit strange, especially before it’s set,” Dan said, “but the taste is cool. It’s kind of a burnt nutty flavour...burnt in a good way, of course!”

Paul nodded. “I’m intrigued. Can’t wait to taste this one. Good luck, Dan.”

They wandered away and Phil released a held breath. Dan had passed the first hurdle. Mary and Paul were definitely interested; now Dan just had to follow through and serve up something he could be proud of.

All challenges felt like a whirlwind when they were happening. One minute they were putting cakes in the oven and the next time they looked up an hour had passed and something else needed to go in or come out or be iced. Phil had his ice-cream in the fridge and he was determined not to check on it for at least an hour. His cake was baking and he had to get onto his meringue but he just needed a moment to check on Dan.

“Doing all right?” he asked, approaching the bench where Dan was messing with his mixer.

When he looked up, Dan’s eyes were slightly harried. “I need to get the speed of this thing right. Is full tilt too high, do you think?”

“No, you can go for it. Just make sure to pour the sugar syrup in slowly and steadily. Don’t try to rush it or it won’t cook the egg whites evenly.” He peeked into the window of Dan’s oven. “Is that really a coffee cake?”

“Uh huh. Coffee caramel.”

“I love coffee.”

Dan laughed. “I know, Phil. You’ve only mentioned it a hundred times, and that’s just this week.”

“Hey! That’s not true!”

Dan was quiet for a moment and then he said, “You’re the one who gave me the idea for it, actually.”

Phil’s head shot up. “What do you mean?”

Dan nodded toward the oven, keeping an unconscious eye on his sugar syrup. “The coffee cake. I knew I wanted to use black sesame in the ice-cream, but it’s not exactly a flavour you come across every day, is it? I tossed around different cake ideas but none of them seemed right. Then on Wednesday afternoon you were talking about coffee drinks at Starbucks and it all just sort of came together in my head.”

“So...I’m like your muse!”

Dan rolled his eyes and bit back a laugh. “Sure, Phil, if that makes you happy. Now stop worrying about me and get back to your station. You have a meringue to whip up too, you know.”

It did make Phil happy actually, he realised as he returned to his bench and pulled out a saucepan. He wasn’t sure why exactly, but he liked the idea that he could help Dan even from his kitchen on the opposite side of the country.

There was no more time to think after that. His cake came out of the oven and he had to cool it as quickly as possible so he could start assembling. Stone cold, he’d told Dan over Skype during the week, otherwise the residual heat from the cake would start to melt the ice-cream and destabilise the whole thing.

It seemed like everyone was running around like headless chickens, when Phil collected his ice-cream from the fridge – Adelina and Rory especially seemed to be having some trouble with their desserts. When he got back to his bench, he almost couldn’t believe that his ice-cream had actually set but, when he peeled away the cling film, he found that it was firm to the touch. There was no way to tell if the centre was completely set but things were looking good. He turned the bowl of ice-cream onto the cake base and managed to release the ice-cream with a bit of a tug. Once it was in place, he hurried it back into the freezer so it wouldn’t melt while he waited for the meringue.

There was only half an hour left on the clock when Phil spooned the meringue into a piping bag and started on the outer layer. He had to work fast enough that the meringue wouldn’t start to melt but not so fast that he made a mess of it. There was a fine balance involved and Phil had never been particularly good at subtlety.

From the looks of it, when Phil glanced up as he rotated his cake stand, Dan looked to be about ten minutes behind him. That was fine. There was plenty of time. He just had to keep calm and stay steady and everything would be alright. Phil had to believe that everything would be alright. He pulled out the blowtorch with a minute to spare, managed to evenly scorch the outside of the meringue, and then Mel was calling time and telling them to step away from their bakes.

Phil dropped the torch and instantly looked to Dan, who held out his hands in a look-what-I-made gesture towards his Baked Alaska.

“Wow,” said Phil and hurried over to get a closer look. The meringue had been piped in attractive swirls, but Dan had lined the piping bag with a black gel so that the meringue had black streaks in it. “It’s so cool, Dan.”

Dan breathed out a laugh and took a gulp of water. “Wait until you see the inside.” He sobered almost immediately. “I just hope it’s enough.”

“Was this the best you could do?”

Dan nodded.

“Then that’s enough. Even if you get sent home, no one can ask for more than your best.”

Dan sighed and then his mouth dropped into a smile. “You know, I assumed I was going to be the one with the inspiring pep talks.”

Phil shrugged and grinned. “There’ll be plenty of time for you to have your turn.” And then he returned to his bench so they could clean up and start judging.

Louise was first to face the firing squad that day and managed to impress with her cherry cake and chocolate ice-cream combination. Adelina didn’t fare even nearly as well, as she set a mostly melted ice-cream in front of the judges. Rory received a middling review and then it was Phil’s turn.

“So this is…?” Mary prompted, when Phil set his dessert on the table.

“Mango ice-cream and coconut cake,” he replied.

Paul cut a wedge out of the dessert and he and Mary tasted all the individual elements.

“That’s very tasty,” Mary said. “The cake is perfectly baked. It’s moist and I like the bite of the dessicated coconut in there.”

“The ice-cream is set,” Paul said, “and tastes strongly of mango but it’s not overpowering the cake at all. They’re working really well together.”

“The meringue is marshmallowy and well-formed. It’s an excellent bake all around.” Mary smiled up at him. “I think you can be proud of that.”

Phil nodded, thanked them, and returned to his bench. He’d only just settled when Dan was called up. He was steady as he walked and his dessert didn’t wobble at all but, when he stepped back and put his hands behind his back, his fingers twisted themselves over and around each other.

“It’s very attractive,” said Paul. “The black streaks against the white of the meringue are a great contrast and very professional. I’m looking forward to trying this one.”

He cut a wedge out and Mary said, “Oh!” as the pure black ice-cream inside was revealed. Phil’s eyes widened. How had Dan done that? He’d been expecting some kind of grey tinge but nothing like this. But looks weren’t everything. How many times had he watched someone on TV present something that looked amazing but tasted like nothing special?

“That is very impressive,” commented Paul. “Let’s hope it tastes as good as it looks.”

Phil held his breath as the judges tasted and then Mary said, “That’s a very interesting flavour. I like it.”

“It’s almost nutty,” agreed Paul. “It pairs really well with the coffee in the cake. The ice-cream is just about set in the centre. It could have used another half an hour, just to really firm it up, but it’s not bad.”

And then it was over and Dan was retreating to his bench.

“That was great, Dan!” Phil said, as they waited for the crew to clear the benches and set up the stools for the results.

Dan shrugged. “It was alright.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Are you crazy? They really liked it! I managed to sneak a taste too, before it got taken away, and I thought it was delicious.”

Dan laughed. “Thank you, but that’s only one bake out of three. I’m still ninety-five per cent certain that I’ll be eliminated today.”

“A five per cent chance is still better than no chance at all, you know.”

“Alright, Mr Positivity,” Dan replied as they settled themselves on their stools. “That’s enough of that. I don’t want to get my hopes too high only to have them dashed cruelly on the rocky shore of real life.”

He was doing this on purpose, being snarky and sarcastic to distract himself from what was coming. Honestly, Phil wasn’t sure if Dan was safe either – only time would tell – but he’d put up a good fight. Better to go out on something that tasted and looked good than something that had completely flopped.

They could see the judges coming and Dan took a deep, shuddering breath. “Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it stupid that I’m scared?”

Without a thought, Phil reached out and grabbed Dan’s hand. “No. There’s nothing stupid about that.”

“Bakers,” said Sue, “what a week it’s been. We’ve had exploding puddings and more meringue than any one person should legally be allowed to eat.”

“This week,” said Mel, “I have the fun job. This week’s star baker produced the tastiest volcanoes I’ve ever eaten, mastered Mary’s Spanische Windtorte, and took us to a tropical paradise via his Baked Alaska. Congratulations, Phil, you’re our star baker.”

Everyone clapped and Louise patted him on the knee. Dan grinned and leaned in to say, “I knew it would be you. How could it not be? You were the best of the best this week.”

Phil laughed but he had trouble being excited, or even just proud of himself, when Dan’s fate was still hanging in the balance. It wouldn’t feel like a win at all if he had to return to the tent next weekend without Dan.

“Unfortunately,” said Sue, “I’ve got the tough job this week. As you know, every week it gets harder and harder to say goodbye to one of you, but say goodbye we must. The person we’re saying goodbye to this week is...”

Dan was forcing himself to breathe evenly, Phil could hear. He was biting into his lower lip and blinking really fast, and his hand was squeezing the life out of Phil’s. Phil wasn’t religious but he was tempted to start praying, to who or what he didn’t know or care. Anyone who was listening would do.

“Adelina. I’m so sorry, my dear.”

The breath Dan had taken fell out of him in a rush and he dropped his face into his free hand. “Oh my god,” he muttered.

Phil wanted to jump up and dance but he felt that would have been disrespectful to poor Adelina, who was crying into Mel’s shoulder. Instead, he flung his free arm around Dan’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug.

“You did it, Dan! I told you you would!”

“Do you know how close that must have been?” He looked up, his eyes red. “My god. I was so sure it was going to be me.”

“But it wasn’t you! You made it! That Baked Alaska must have really impressed Mary and Paul. How do you feel?”

Dan shook his head. “Exhausted. Like I need to sleep for six days. Remind me again why I signed up for this?”

“Because you’re an amazing baker and it makes you happy. You should do more things that make you happy, you know. Happy suits you.”

Dan laughed, a slightly wet laugh, but still a laugh. “What has gotten into you this weekend?”

An excellent question but not one Phil was interested in pondering right at that moment. It wasn’t important anyway. All that mattered was that they were both through to the next round and, hey, Phil had even managed to snag star baker along the way. What more could Phil ask for than that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil’s signature: [ Chocolate volcanoes](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/chocolate_volcanoes_37330) (Paul’s recipe)  
> Technical: [ Spanische Windtorte](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/spanische_windtorte_64745) (Mary’s recipe)  
> Dan’s showstopper: Inspired by Ian’s uncompleted black sesame Baked Alaska – ‘the Bincident’ – Season 5
> 
> The art has been posted! It was drawn for the scene in this chapter, in which Phil goes up to Dan's hotel room to offer some comfort and guidance. The link is in the body of the chapter but in case you missed it, you can view the art [here](http://phanmily.tumblr.com/post/153716210529/phandom-big-bang-2016-im-so-bad-at-backgrounds). :)


	7. Week Seven - Chocolate

Chocolate wasn't the ingredient Phil was most comfortable working with, at least not as the focus. He’d taught himself how to temper chocolate and he used is as decoration all the time, but apart from his chocolate cake and some chocolate puddings, he didn’t actually use it that much.

“I tried to make chocolate bread once,” said Dan, as they walked towards the tent to face that week’s signature challenge. 

“How did you do?”

Dan laughed and shook his head. “I said ‘tried’. The bread was tough and very close-textured. I'll figure it out eventually. Man, can you imagine what that will be like? Being able to get back to baking what we want just because we want to?”

“Instead of practicing for the show? Yeah, it'll be fun...”

Would it be though? As stressful as the Bake Off had proven to be, Phil had enjoyed it. He got to bake amazing things every week, be challenged, learn new things, and he'd made some friends. But who was to say he'd ever even see them again after it was all over? He and Dan lived on opposite sides of the country. It made sense to talk during the week when they had Bake Off to talk about, but what about when it was over? What would stop them drifting apart and never seeing or speaking to each other again?

“Phil?” Dan waved a hand in front of his face. “Phil!”

“Yeah! Sorry.” He shook his head to clear it. “Just lost in my thoughts.”

“Well, don't be. Get your head in the game. Neither one of us is going home this week if I have anything to say about it.”

Phil laughed. If Dan could find a way to win them both the competition, he would. He was relentless when there was something he wanted.

“Good morning, bakers,” Mel said, “and welcome to your chocolate signature challenge.”

“This week, Mary and Paul would like you to please make six individual chocolate tarts. They can be any combination of flavours that you like, so long as chocolate is included, and they must be open-topped. You have four hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Phil wasn’t going to jinx himself by wondering how hard chocolate tarts could be. How many times had he watched bakers on TV say that something was going to be easy and then be struck down by disaster? He wasn’t interested in that happening to him at all, thanks very much.

“Good morning, Phil,” said Mary, and he smiled up at the judges in front of him. “What are you making for us today?”

“Today I’m making chocolate and salted caramel tarts.”

“Ohhhh,” said Mel and smiled around at Paul, who was also looking pleased. “Well, you’re on to a winner.”

Phil laughed and looked around for his measuring spoons. “I hope so. They’re something I’ve only started making recently and they’ve been unexpectedly divisive. Some people like the salt, other people don’t. But I hope you all do, obviously.”

The judges laughed and then Paul said, “Are you doing a biscuit or pastry base?”

“Biscuit. I think they taste better with a biscuit base and I didn’t want to have to worry about my pastry failing on top of everything else.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a plan,” said Mary. “We’ll see you later.”

Phil was stationed at the back of the tent that weekend, which meant he had a view of everyone as he worked. Unfortunately, it also meant he was separated from Dan, who was at the front of the opposite row. Poor Mikayla, who looked like she was five foot nothing, kept having to crane around him to see anything at the front of the tent.

He couldn’t hear what the judges and Dan said as they spoke, but he could see the judges’ faces. Paul looked intrigued, Mary looked uncertain, and Mel looked shocked. Phil chuckled, because Dan had told him days ago what he was making for his signature, and returned his attention to where he was pressing his biscuit into the moulds. They needed to be firm and well-packed so they wouldn’t crumble when he turned them out, but not so snug that they wouldn’t come out at all. With only two more weeks before the finals, there was no room for error anymore. Even the slightest mistake would get them sent home.

With his bases in the fridge to set, Phil started on his caramel. He thought he was really focused, except that he noticed from the corner of his eye as soon as Dan left his bench to drop his pastry in the fridge. He stopped at the end of Phil’s bench on the way back.

“All right, Phil?” he asked and peered into the pot of caramel on the stove.

Phil nodded and dug his salt out from under the baking paraphernalia strewn across his station. “Yeah, I think so. For now anyway. Bases are chilling, caramel is on, chocolate is about to be chopped for melting. It should all come together.”

Dan smiled, as if he approved. Maybe he did. Not so many weeks ago Phil would have been all over the place. His organisation had improved in leaps and bounds. Maybe Dan’s influence was rubbing off on him.

“How about you? What did Mary and Paul think of your tarts?”

Dan laughed and his eyes twinkled. “Oh my god, Phil. It was fantastic. I wish you could have heard it. ‘Cocoa and chilli’? Mary said. ‘You’re doing chocolate pastry?’ Paul said. He doesn’t approve, of course. He never approves of anyone who does chocolate pastry.” He laughed again and Phil felt his face soften into a smile. “I don’t think they’re convinced it will work.”

“But you’ll convince them.”

“Well, yeah. That’s why I’m here.” He began edging away. “I better get on to it, though, if I have any hope of that. I’ll see you later.”

Dan of this week was a completely different person compared to the wreck of the week before. It was as if his confidence had been completely renewed. Obviously, a week away from the tent could do wonders for morale but even still. Chocolate was no more comfortable for Dan than it was for Phil. There was no reason for him to be so chipper and quietly confident. It was nice, though. It reminded Phil of the early weeks of the competition, when Dan was the one Phil couldn’t stand, because he was just so perfect and his bakes were so spectacular and seemed so effortless. Phil used to think that Dan was completely unruffled by anything. They had come a long way since then.

There was a delicate balance to Phil’s chocolate and caramel tarts, beyond ensuring there wasn’t too much or too little salt in the caramel anyway. He also needed to make sure they were two different consistencies. The chocolate needed to be thicker, almost like a brownie batter, so that it could hold little pockets of caramel. His earliest attempts had ended up just being an oozy mess with the chocolate and caramel all swirled together. Which wasn’t bad necessarily – in fact, he knew from having had to eat them that they were delicious – but it wasn’t as impressive or technically challenging. The judges wanted to see him grow, so he had to show them that he had.

By the time there was an hour left on the clock, Phil was covered in chocolate. It was smeared across his apron and he was sure there was a dried streak of it across his cheek. One of the makeup people had tried to clean him up while the cameras were occupied by Omar’s disaster across the tent, but he’d hurried away to get his bases out of the fridge before they could get the cloth anywhere near his face. He didn’t care about having chocolate on his face; he’d done stupider things on camera since filming had started. Hell, he’d practically fallen through the door for his audition after tripping over the uneven carpet, and he’d still qualified.

With forty-five minutes to go, he poured his chocolate into the bases, spooned in the dollops of caramel and made sure they were covered up, and then settled them in the oven. Half an hour should do it. They would be firm enough to slice through but still squidgy and soft in the middle, just the way Phil liked them.

He had some left over caramel in the freezer, which he would crush and sprinkle over his tarts to finish them, but there wasn’t any rush on that for the moment. He could clean up his bench…but that wasn’t nearly as fun as wandering over to see what Dan was doing.

He stopped to check in on Louise as well, who was two benches behind Dan, and found her crouched in front of the oven with her hands cupped around her eyes so she could see inside. He ducked down beside her.

“They look good!” he said, and she jumped.

Her hand pressed to her heart, she gave him a tiny shove. “Don’t do that, Phil! You’ll give me a heart attack.”

He laughed. “Sorry. They do though. Look good I mean. Better than mine. Better than everyone’s probably. Your bakes always look the nicest.”

Louise blushed and bumped his shoulder with hers. “Thank you. But I think Mikayla might have me beat at this one. Have you seen hers? They’re glorious.” She looked around at his bench, not that she could see it from where she was kneeling, and then looked back at him. “Don’t tell me you’ve finished already?”

He shook his head. “Of course not. Mine have just gone in. I was on my way to see what Dan’s doing.”

She rolled her eyes and went back to watching her tarts. “Of course you were. God forbid Dan and Phil go longer than an hour without some form of interaction. The world might stop turning.”

“Now, Louise,” said Dan, and Phil checked over his shoulder to see Dan standing there with his fists on his hips, “there’s no reason to be bitter just because Phil likes me better than anyone.”

She scoffed, but there was a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Get going, you two, and go bother someone else. You’re distracting me from my baking.”

Phil forced himself to his feet and followed a smirking Dan back to his bench, which was a lot neater than Phil’s, obviously. He couldn’t get Louise’s words out of his head, though, and now that he thought about it, maybe she was on to something.

“Have you realised,” Phil said, “that you and I seem to do a lot less baking that anyone else in this tent?”

“What?” Dan shook his head and piled some dirty spoons into a bowl. “No we don’t.”

“We must do.” There was a bowl with melted chocolate sitting nearby, which Phil tried to subtly drag closer to himself. “We’re always talking and stuff. No one else does that.”

“Oh my god, Phil, here.” Dan made a point of picking up the bowl and dropping it on the bench in front of Phil. Then he passed Phil a clean spoon and indicated that Phil should go ahead and scrape out what was left from the sides. “We talk more because we’re friends. Like, actual friends. Not just people thrown into this weird situation who are never going to see or speak to each other again afterwards.”

Phil froze in the middle of bringing the loaded spoon to his mouth. He had a feeling that his mouth had fallen unattractively open and stuck that way. “Really?”

Dan looked at him like he was worried he might be stupid. “Uhhh, yeah? What, you don’t think we’re friends?”

“No. I mean, yes! I mean…” Phil stopped. “We are friends. Actually, you’re my best friend. I’ve never known anyone like you before.”

Dan’s eyes were wide and he ducked his head but it couldn’t hide the blush that infused his cheeks. “…Yeah. Same.”

“As touching as this is,” said Sue, and popped up between them with her arms around their shoulders, “there are only twenty minutes left in this challenge. I thought you might like to know.”

“Twenty minutes?!” Phil needed to get back to his tarts. What if they were ruined? He spun around to leave and realised he was still holding the spoon of chocolate. He stuck it in his mouth, flung it back towards Dan, who managed to fumble a catch, and then hurried back to his bench.

When he opened the oven door and pulled the tarts out, they looked okay. Maybe the edges were a bit darker than he’d like them to be but they weren’t burnt or anything. The middle, when he gently touched a finger to one, felt just set on top but still soft underneath. It didn’t look like too much damage had been done. They turned out well onto the plate and he grabbed his caramel from the freezer, bashed it with a rolling pin, and sprinkled it over the tops, just in time for Mel to tell them to step away from their bakes.

The judges started with Dan, which Phil knew Dan would be grateful for. Thankfully, the rest of the tent was silent, so Phil could hear what Mary and Paul had to say.

“So, Dan,” said Paul, “these are chocolate and chilli, is that right?”

Dan nodded and Mary asked, “So will they be hot?”

“No. At least, not spicy hot.”

“They look very professional,” said Paul. “They’re completely smooth, like you’ve levelled them with a ruler. The chocolate looks dark and rich and…” He gently turned the tart over to reveal the underside, “The pastry looks well baked. But we’ll see about its taste and texture.” And he arched an eyebrow at Dan who, to his credit, looked not at all afraid.

Paul cut the tart cleanly in half and the knife hit the plate with a satisfying tap. When he separated the halves, the filling stayed in place. Paul and Mary took a forkful each and chewed thoughtfully.

By the smile across Mary’s face, she was pleased. “That’s very tasty. It’s rich and chocolatey, but the chilli brings out a smoothness and a warmth, especially at the end.”

“The pastry actually worked,” said Paul. “That was risky, using chocolate. It can make the pastry temperamental and I’ve seen many bakers fail at it. But you pulled it off. You’re lucky.”

Not lucky, Phil thought, and stopped himself just before he said it aloud. Dan wasn’t lucky, he was skilled, maybe the most technically skilled baker in the tent. If they didn’t know it by now, they never would.

“That tart,” said Paul, pointing a decisive finger at it, “is excellent. It looks simple but it’s really impressive. Well done.” And he reached over to shake Dan’s hand before they rounded Dan’s bench to speak to Mikayla.

Dan, when he turned around to find Phil, looked stunned. He was still holding his hand up, like he almost couldn’t believe Paul had willingly touched it. Phil’s insides were rioting. He wanted to jump up and down, and run over to Dan and…celebrate somehow. Maybe stuff themselves with cake. That would be both fitting and satisfying. The cameras were positioned so that Phil might be caught in the shot, though, so he had to content himself with an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Of course, after Dan’s judging, Phil had practically forgotten that his own tarts were still to come under the scrutiny of Mary and Paul. When they approached his bench, he was almost surprised to see them there.

“Chocolate and salted caramel,” said Mel. “I’ve been waiting for these.”

“I would have liked to see the caramel on top sprinkled a bit more attractively,” said Mary and Phil nodded, because he had sort of just dumped it on in the dying moments of the challenge.

“The edges have caught a bit, too,” said Paul, trailing his knife around the edges of one of the tarts, before cutting it in half.

It wasn’t as clean a cut as Dan’s tart had been but it did reveal the perfectly suspended blobs of caramel throughout the middle of the tart.

“It’s nice to see caramel inside as well as outside,” Mary said, “and holding its shape, too, not all mixed in together.”

Phil tried to hold his smile as they tasted.

“The caramel is a little bit salty for me,” said Paul, “but I like the base, and I like the different textures in there.”

“Well, I like the caramel just fine,” added Mary. “I just think the inside was a bit firmer than you’d planned. I would have liked it to ooze more.”

Paul laughed. “We’ll have to agree to disagree, Mary.” 

“Just try not to get distracted next time,” Mary said, and winked as they walked away.

Phil wanted to drop his face into his hands and sink into the floor. “Distracted,” Mary had said. So everyone had probably witnessed his and Dan’s encounter. As if it hadn’t been awkward enough. But it was fine. Phil would just have to try to redeem himself in the technical, and prove that he could bake perfectly well, even while distracted by Dan and his delicious chocolate and chilli tarts.

*** * ***

“This week’s technical challenge is a little bit different,” said Mel, after they’d all watched Mary and Paul leave the tent. “Each of you will have a staggered starting time at fifteen minute intervals. Mary and Paul will judge each bake as the challenge progresses. Louise, you’re baker number one. Everyone else, please leave the tent and we’ll call each of you in individually.”

All the bakers exchanged glances as they came around their benches and headed for the exit. Phil shot Louise a “Good luck” as he passed, and she sent a shaky smile his way in thanks.

Outside, the bakers gathered at the set of wooden benches and chairs where they normally ate lunch. Mikayla, Omar, and Rory sat on one bench to chat, while Dan perched on the end of a table and watched the tent with his arms folded and a frown on his face. Phil shuffled awkwardly to Dan’s side with his hands in his pockets. One of the producers hovered nearby.

Just as the silence was becoming too much for Phil, and he was preparing to break it somehow, Dan leaned in towards him and whispered, “I think I know what the challenge is.”

Phil started and looked towards the tent, but they couldn’t see anything more than Louise bustling around inside. “How?”

Dan shrugged. “It’s not so hard to figure out really. Staggered starting times and getting Mary and Paul to taste everything as it’s ready. There aren’t many things it could be.”

Maybe it hadn’t been hard for Dan to figure out, but Phil was drawing a blank. “...There aren’t?”

“No. It’s a–”

“No!” He slapped his hands over his ears and squinched his eyes shut. “Don’t tell me.”

“But–”

He peeked over at the other bakers, who apparently hadn’t noticed Dan and Phil behaving any more weirdly than normal, and shook his head. “You can’t. If you’ve figured it out, that’s fine, but you can’t tell me and not tell the others. That’s unfair. It’s cheating.”

Dan’s face was disbelieving at first and then it looked troubled. He glanced back over his shoulder at Mikayla, Omar and Rory and sighed. His hands dropped to the edge of the table, where they beat out a rhythm, and then he nodded reluctantly. “I guess you’re right.” That didn’t seem to be enough for him, though, because he hurried on, “But don’t stress. You know how to make the things. Just don’t panic and remember that a fancy name doesn’t make for a difficult bake if you stick with what you know.”

Phil blinked. “Right. Okay, well, that’s not cryptic at all.”

Dan laughed and then they all watched at Mikayla was called into the tent. Fifteen minutes later, Dan was called up, then Omar, then Rory and, finally, Phil was left alone outside. He paced up and down in front of the table, rubbing his hands together. He could see everyone else inside already working and knowing that they all knew what was waiting for him was making his stomach tighten. After what felt like an eternity, the producer nodded at him and he all but ran back to the tent.

When he entered, Omar and Rory were mixing something, and Louise, Mikayla and Dan were already crouched in front of their ovens. Dan looked up as he passed and said, “I was right. You’ll be fine, Phil.”

Strangely, Dan’s words made the knot in his stomach loosen. Even though he still didn’t know what the challenge was, knowing that Dan knew he could make whatever it was filled him with confidence. It probably wasn’t something Phil had never heard of and it would be okay if he just kept his head and didn’t make himself rush because everyone else was so obviously ahead of him.

As soon as he’d stopped at his bench, Sue said, “Phil, for today’s technical challenge, Mary and Paul would like you to make a chocolate soufflé. You have one and a half hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Of course. Phil wanted to slap himself in the face. A chocolate soufflé. What else could it have been? He read the recipe, sparse as it was, as he greased his dish with butter and then dusted it with sugar. Dan had been right, Phil did know how to make the component parts. The hard part would be getting the consistency right to ensure a good rise.

He started on the chocolate crème pâtissière first, because it would need to cool before he could fold in the egg whites. As he melted the chocolate, some of the crew were setting up the judging table at the front of the tent. It was small, only long enough to seat two, and draped with a red gingham cloth. Two chairs were brought in and set up with the backs facing the bakers. When Mary and Paul were sitting in them, they wouldn’t be able to see what the bakers were doing behind them, or which soufflé had come from whom.

By the time Phil was setting his crème pât aside to cool, and starting on his meringue, Louise’s soufflé was ready for judging. She watched with her hands over her mouth as it was set in front of Mary and Paul, and everyone craned around to watch them taste it. The judges whispered between themselves and then leaned away from each other, and indicated the soufflé could be taken away. Louise swung her gaze towards Dan for some kind of reassurance but even he, being tall and at the front of the row, could only shrug apologetically.

Phil glanced up from where he was folding his meringue and crème pât together to watch Mikayla’s soufflé be taken up for judging. It looked impressive, a beautiful chocolate brown and a good height, but that was all Phil saw. He needed to make sure everything was well-combined, because the last thing he wanted were massive globs of white meringue showing through the chocolate. At the same time, he didn’t want to overmix it and knock all the air out, otherwise he would end up with a sunken soufflé.

Dan’s soufflé was taken up just as Phil put his own soufflé in the oven. Phil couldn’t see much of it from the rear of the tent but it looked about the same height and colour as Louise’s. Omar’s soufflé hadn’t risen much at all and had a large crack across the top. By the time it was time for Rory’s to be judged, Phil had stopped paying attention. Mikayla and Louise had gathered at a bench to whisper about their bakes and Dan came back to wait with Phil.

“It looks pretty good,” Dan whispered. “It’s risen well.”

“It’s not as high as Mikayla’s was.” Phil’s hands itched to open the oven door and peek inside, but Dan reached out, almost absentmindedly, and stopped him from reaching for the handle.

“Leave it. Be patient. And don’t stress. No one’s was as high as Mikayla’s.”

Phil took a deep breath and clenched his hands together painfully, to distract himself from the fact that they were all waiting on him now. He had to remind himself that that was part of the plan. He didn’t have to rush ahead and catch everyone up; he had started later than everyone else and he would finish later as well. It was fine.

Dan was leaning in so close that Phil could smell him, sweet and fruity, with a hint of spice, under the powder of the makeup and a faint waft of chocolate, probably clinging to him from when he’d been baking. Phil flushed and swallowed hard. He’d never paid much attention to how Dan smelled before. Why would he? It wasn’t like it made any difference to Phil. But now that it was in his face, almost literally, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

“I think you’re the nicest smelling person I’ve ever met,” Phil said.

Dan froze and then turned slowly to face him, an incredulous look on his face. He was so close Phil could see the tiny flecks of gold in the otherwise flat brown of his eyes. It was only then that Phil realised exactly what he had said and he winced.

“That sounded a lot less creepy in my head.”

Dan huffed a laugh and a smirk pulled at his mouth. “I’m sure it did. But thank you. I think.”

“Baker number six,” said Sue, leaning over Phil’s bench to raise an eyebrow at them both, “you have two minutes left to get your soufflé out of the oven, and then it’s coming out whether you like it or not.”

Phil nodded and turned his attention back to his oven. Dan had leaned back to sit on his heels and tapped his fingers on his knees.

“How will I know if it’s done?” Phil asked.

It was meant to be rhetorical, but Dan said, “I think it’s supposed to be slightly springy when you touch it, but you can’t test it without opening the oven, and you can’t do that until you’re ready to take it out. You just have to trust your instincts, I guess.”

Trust his instincts. Right, well. Phil had never made a soufflé before but he had made meringue and his instincts, which sounded alarmingly like his mum, were saying that this meringue was done.

“Okay,” he said, reaching for the oven mitts, “I’m doing it.”

The hot air erupted out of the oven carrying the smell of delicious hot chocolate. He pulled the dish out onto the bench, unwrapped the collar of baking paper and took a deep breath as Sue carried it up to the judges.

It was the most anti-climactic end to a technical challenge ever. As soon as Mary and Paul had tasted Phil’s soufflé, they left the tent and the bakers were left to mill around as the crew set all the bakes up on the traditional long table at the front of the tent for ranking.

Dan disappeared to find some water and get his makeup touched up, if the assistant who hurried off after him was any indication, and Phil slumped on one of the stools in front of the line of soufflés. Louise perched on the stool beside him and nudged him with an elbow.

“Alright, Phil? You’re very out of sorts today.”

She was right. He’d been off his game all day. Not enough to have him making major mistakes, but enough so that he felt just out of step through every decision he made. There was an uneasy churning in the pit of his stomach when he thought about it too much so he tried to block it out. Because he’d never felt exactly like this before. There had been one time, years ago, when he was at university, when he’d sort of approached feelings like this, but it hadn’t been the same. That had been a ripple in a puddle compared to the wave he could feel threatening to swamp him.

He forced a smile at her. “I’m fine.” And then insisted, “Really,” when she looked disbelieving. “I’m just worn out, I guess. It’s been a long seven weeks. Maybe it’s all finally catching up to me.”

“You speak as if you’re on the verge of death,” said Dan, dropping onto the empty stool on Phil’s other side. “You just need a good night’s sleep and you’ll feel better.”

“‘A good night’s sleep’?” Both of Phil’s eyebrows rose up his forehead. “Since when are you the best person to be telling people to get a good night’s sleep?”

Dan shrugged. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

There wasn’t anymore time to talk. The other bakers took their seats and then Mary and Paul came back to rank their soufflés.

“In sixth place,” said Mary, pointing to the fourth soufflé from the left, “this one.”

Omar raised his hand and Mary explained, “The meringue was overworked and didn’t rise enough.”

Rory placed fifth, because he’d had large clumps of white showing through his chocolate. Dan placed fourth, Phil third, and Louise came second, which left Mikayla with the best soufflé of the day.

“That went alright, I think,” Dan said, as they all went back to the hotel that night.

“You’re not bothered by fourth place?” Phil asked, but he was only half-paying attention to the conversation.

Dan shook his head. “In a group of six, fourth is pretty average. That was all I was really hoping for. My signature was a success so, unless something goes horribly wrong tomorrow, I should be safe. You too.”

“Yeah,” Phil nodded. “Right.”

Dan stopped and then reached out to grab Phil’s elbow. “I know I was joking earlier, but are you sure you’re okay? If something’s wrong, you can tell me.”

Phil shook his head and tried to relax into a smile. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Really? Is this about me knowing what the technical challenge was going to be? I figured it out on my own. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And I didn’t tell anyone–”

“Dan! It’s not about that, I promise. It’s nothing you’ve done. I’m fine. Just thinking about some stuff.”

“...Okay.” He bit his lower lip and his gaze darted away for a second, before returning to Phil’s face. “But you would tell me, right? If there was something wrong? I would help you, if you told me.”

The smile that stretched across Phil’s face then was more natural. “Of course I would,” he said. “Dan, you’re my best friend. You’re the first person I would tell.”

*** * ***

Phil was looking forward to the weekend being over. He wanted to go home and hide in his bed for a few hours and then get up tomorrow and think about baking. Assuming he made it through to the next round, but he was feeling pretty safe. He just needed to not have any disasters during the showstopper and he would probably be okay.

He knew that he was worrying Dan and Louise, despite his reassurances yesterday. They’d been shooting concerned glances at him all morning, or at least, glances that were trying so hard to look unconcerned that they were just increasing the concern by ten. He’d taken to pretending he couldn’t see them. If he just pretended he couldn’t see them, then they couldn’t talk to him about it anymore and he could focus on the showstopper.

“Bakers,” said Mel, “welcome to your showstopper challenge.”

“Paul and Mary would like you to make a chocolate centrepiece. It can take any shape you like but it must include milk chocolate, dark chocolate, and white chocolate, and a biscuit element,” said Sue. “Basically, we want so much chocolate that we’ll each be in a chocolate induced coma by the end of the day.”

“You have four hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Phil had really had to think hard about what he was going to make for this challenge. A chocolate structure wasn’t the same as a biscuit, or even a bread, centrepiece. By nature, it was more delicate, less sturdy, and harder to work with. He’d spent hours trawling the internet, searching for inspiration. In the end, coming at it from the biscuit angle was the key.

“What are you making for us today, Phil?” asked Mary. She sounded calm and steady, but he’d seen the way her eyes had widened at the number of ingredients piled around his station.

“I’m making a trio of chocolate biscuit tins.”

“A trio?” Mel repeated. “You know you only have to make one structure, right?”

Phil laughed. “Yeah, but that didn’t seem like enough, so I decided to triple it. I’m making three tins, one each in milk, dark and white chocolate, and then I’m filling them with three different types of biscuit. There’ll be oatmeal cookies in the milk chocolate tin, shortbread in the dark chocolate tin, and cinnamon cookies in the white chocolate tin.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” said Paul. “You’ve only got four hours. Will you be able to get it all done in time?”

“It’s been tight when I’ve practised it at home, but I’ve gotten good at multi-tasking. If I can just stay on track, I should be all right.”

“Okay, well good luck, Phil,” Mel said, looking slightly concerned, and then they walked away to speak to Rory.

When he’d left home early Saturday morning to come to the tent, all he’d been able to think about was the showstopper. He’d been stressing about it all week, knowing that he would really have to push himself to get things done, and worried that there wouldn’t be enough chocolate in it to see him through. Now, he was glad that he had so much on his plate. He had to focus and there was no time for his mind to wander. It was a relief, after having tossed and turned all night long, unable to shut off his thoughts.

He had started with his biscuits, because they would need to chill, bake, and cool before he could put them in their tins. He’d found out the hard way that putting warm cookies into chocolate tins was a bad idea, when the chocolate casings had started melting from the residual heat. It seemed really obvious in retrospect, but it was the kind of thing that he never thought about as it was happening.

It was the sort of thing Dan would probably think about. He was always thinking about consequences.

Phil shook his head and forced his mind back to his dough. He managed to get all three of his biscuit doughs prepared and in the fridge after just forty-five minutes. That was a new record for him. The last time he’d practised, it had taken at least an hour. So he was ahead of schedule. That was good. If nothing bad happened, he would have more time to work with his chocolate and more time to decorate at the end.

Honestly, he’d never even heard of tempering chocolate until a year ago and even then, he’d stumbled across it by accident while watching baking videos on YouTube at one o’clock in the morning. It was harder than it looked. Remembering all the temperatures required, and that each type of chocolate had different requirements, was almost impossible at first. Even now, he had all the numbers written down on his recipe to make sure he didn’t get them wrong. The white chocolate was the hardest, because there was a greater chance of it burning, so he was doing that first.

Checking on Dan had become habit, so he couldn’t stop himself glancing up every now and again to see what he was doing.

“I’m making a grand piano,” Dan had told him over Skype on Thursday night.

“‘A grand piano’?”

Dan nodded. “A small one, obviously, but yeah. I’ll do the base and legs in chocolate-flavoured gingerbread, the outside and the top will be milk chocolate, and all the keys will be in white and dark chocolate. I’ll fill it with a loose chocolate mousse.”

“All the keys? How many are there?”

“Eighty-eight,” Dan said, as if this weren’t a particularly large number. “Fifty-two white and thirty-six black.”

“And you’re going to cut them all out and stick them on individually? Isn’t that a bit...labour intensive?”

“It’s the showstopper, Phil. Besides, you’ve needlessly tripled your own workload so let’s not get started on who’s overreaching.”

If anyone could pull off a chocolate grand piano, Phil thought as he watched Dan cut his uncooked gingerbread into the right shape, it was Dan. Of course, it might all go horribly wrong and collapse under its own weight but Dan’s bakes were like that. Dan was like that. Love or hate. In or out. All or nothing. There was no halfway with him.

Phil had worked hard to figure out the best way to make the pieces of his chocolate biscuit tins. He had started with stencils, but the chocolate had run all over the paper because he needed the pieces to be thick enough to hold together. So then he had tried cutting them to size, but that had cracked the chocolate. After staying up for hours trying to figure out how to do it, he had fallen asleep curled lengthways across his bed, and then he startled awake at nine the next morning with the solution just waiting in his head.

“Adjustable cake tins,” said Dan’s voice from the opposite side of Phil’s bench, and Phil jumped. “Nice.”

“Thanks,” he said, smoothing his milk chocolate down. “How’s your bake coming?”

Dan shrugged. “Okay. My chocolate is in the fridge and my gingerbread is cooling. I’m just about to get started on my mousse.”

“Sounds like you’re on track.”

“Yeah.”

Phil glanced up and frowned at Dan’s downturned mouth. “Are you okay? You’re quieter than normal.”

Dan raised an eyebrow. “Really, Phil? You’re one to talk.”

Phil had to concede that one. “Okay, fine.” He turned to put his milk chocolate pieces in the fridge and then tore open the packet of dark chocolate he would use to create his last tin. “I haven’t been myself this weekend. I’m just tired. I want to go home, to my actual bed, and sleep. That’s all.”

Dan chewed his lower lip. “If this is about me–”

Phil plunged his spoon into the melting chocolate so hard he hit the bottom of the bowl with a clang. “Not everything is about you, Dan!”

Dan recoiled as if he’d been struck. Something in his eyes shuttered and his mouth tightened. “Fine. Sorry for caring.”

He turned and strode back to his bench, where he slammed a pot down on the stovetop so he could start on his mousse. Standing at the side of the tent, Mel and Sue shared a side-eye, and all the other bakers turned to stare. Louise’s eyes were wide.

There was an ache in Phil’s chest. He had wanted to snatch his words back as soon as he’d said them but, of course, by then it was too late. And it wasn’t like he could reasonably be angry at Dan because Dan wasn’t even wrong. It was about him, but Dan couldn’t know that. No one could know that.

“Phil.” Mel’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, or around his back anyway, given that he was so much taller than her. “What’s wrong, love?”

He heaved a sigh and his shoulders slumped. He had to force himself to pay attention to the reading on his thermometre, or else his chocolate would be ruined and he didn’t need that on top of everything else.

“Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Who knows?”

She hummed. “That sounds very existential.”

“Maybe I’ve been hanging out with Dan too much.”

She eyed him. “You don’t really believe that, do you? You two make such a good team.”

“We’re in a competition.”

She shrugged. “So? At the end of the day, they’re just cakes, or biscuits, or bread rolls. There are more important things.” She rubbed his back and then walked away to go check on Omar, whose chocolate structure didn’t look like it was coming together as well as Omar had hoped.

The rest of the challenge passed in that too-quick blur. His biscuits were cooling and he had started assembling his white chocolate tin. The pieces had all set well – four sides, a base, and a lid – and were shiny and ready to work with. Piece by piece, he melted where the edges met and pressed them together so they could join. He had to work quickly and carefully; handling the chocolate too much would make it start melting under the heat of his hands, and leave finger marks on the glossy exterior. Once the pieces were joined, he hurried them back into the fridge to make sure they set, and then started on assembling the milk chocolate tin.

Time was getting away from him but he kept his head down and tried to stay focused. It was hard, now that he couldn’t get the look on Dan’s face out of his head, but he persevered. He needed to get through this challenge before he could apologise. Dan seemed like the kind of person who would need time to cool off before he could accept an apology, and Phil didn’t want to distract him now. So he concentrated on piping hopefully attractive designs on chocolate biscuit tins, arrange the biscuits inside, set the lids at a carefully jaunty angle, and then the challenge was over.

Across the tent, Dan was slumped on his stool, a water bottle clenched in his hand. The chocolate piano stood proud on the bench but Dan was staring past it, into the middle distance, as if the whole challenge and its result were just an afterthought.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you two,” said Louise, as she came up beside him, “but you need to go talk to him. Now’s your chance, while everyone’s occupied.”

Phil shook his head. “No. I don’t want to do it with all these people around.”

“You already yelled at him with all these people around.”

“Exactly. He won’t want me to draw any more attention to it. I’ll speak to him later.”

She frowned and her lips pursed in displeasure. “Alright. It’s your problem so it’s your decision.” She pointed a finger in his face. “But you had better speak to him tonight, Phil Lester, or I’ll be very unhappy.”

Phil almost didn’t care about the judging at that point. Mel was right – there were more important things. But, of course, there was no getting away from it.

Poor Omar was called up first and it was clear from the outset that he hadn’t had a good day. His chocolate hadn’t been tempered correctly and was a dull, cloudy brown; his biscuit was tough and bland. Louise’s carousel was well-received and Mikayla’s chocolate tower impressed the judges with its height and intricacy.

Dan’s piano wobbled alarmingly when he picked it up and Phil’s heart just about stopped. But Dan took a moment to let it settle and then carried it towards the judges.

“In all my years,” said Mary, “I have never seen a piano made out of chocolate.”

“I don’t even know how to cut it,” said Paul, and then suggested they sample the mousse first.

“That’s good mousse,” said Mary. “Creamy and chocolatey. I would have liked it a bit firmer, but it’s very tasty.”

They broke off pieces of chocolate from around the edge and then, under Dan’s instruction, Paul lifted the body of the piano so Mary could pull out the legs.

“It’s very original,” Paul said, once they had tasted all the elements. “It’s very Dan. I like the effort you’ve gone to, to make all the keys individually, instead of just painting them on, but I would have liked to see more chocolate work overall. All you really did was cut out some chocolate pieces and set them in the right shape.”

Dan nodded and took his bake back to his bench. He didn’t so much as glance in Phil’s direction.

“Phil, could you bring your bake up, please,” said Sue.

“You know,” said Paul, after they’d had a good look at his creation, “most people would have made biscuit tins out of biscuit and then put chocolates inside. You’ve done it the other way around.”

Phil shrugged and tried to smile. “I’ve always done things a bit differently than most people.”

“They look very attractive,” said Mary. “I like the detailing on the outside, and the chocolate is lovely and shiny.”

They tasted each of the biscuits and snapped parts off the lid of each tin to sample.

“At first,” said Paul, sounding impressed, “I was worried your idea was too simple and that we wouldn’t see enough intricacy in what you’ve presented, but you’ve actually been really smart in how you’ve paired your chocolate and biscuits. The graininess of the oatmeal works really well with the creaminess of the milk chocolate, the smooth shortbread pairs well with the rich dark chocolate, and the spicy cinnamon undercuts the sweetness of the white chocolate. That shows a lot of thought and careful planning. Well done.”

Despite everything else going on, the smile on Phil’s face as he walked back to his bench was genuine. He’d produced a good showstopper. It wasn’t going to win him anything, but he didn’t care. His chocolate and biscuits had tasted good and he would live to fight another day.

The one thing that brought down his mood was Dan pointedly sitting on Louise’s other side as they waited for the results, rather than on the empty stool beside Phil. Rory was left to fill the space but looked troubled as he perched beside Phil, almost as if he were convinced that Phil would boot him off for filling what everyone in the tent knew was Dan’s spot.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this,” said Sue, “but I never want to see another piece of chocolate again.”

“At least until next week,” said Mel, and Sue nodded seriously.

“Right.” Sue rubbed her hands together. “This week, I get to announce that our star baker has really mastered chocolate of every colour and consistency. Chocolate and raspberry starters with a perfect chocolate soufflé main, followed by a truly impressive chocolate Eiffel – it sounds like my idea of a three course meal. Mikayla, you’re our star baker.”

Everyone clapped and Mikayla looked so pleased with herself that Phil couldn’t help but smile.

“Unfortunately,” said Mel, when the clapping had died down, “it’s time again to say goodbye to another of our merry band. This week, I’m very sad to say that we have to say goodbye to...Omar.”

And that was it. Phil couldn’t believe that he, Dan and Louise had all survived another week. The chances of them all making it to the final were increasing with every week that went by and wouldn’t that be amazing? Even if he didn’t win, Phil could still be happy that one of his friends had won. It was the best outcome that he could imagine.

People often hurried home after the showstopper. They had families to get back to or a job waiting for them on Monday morning. Phil had such a long journey home on the train that he normally hurried too, but that night he lingered over his bag, trying to figure out what to say, until he realised that Dan might have been in a rush to get home too and then raced down the hall to Dan’s door.

He hammered on it with a fist and crossed the fingers of his other hand – if Dan had already left, things would be bad. He didn’t want to leave things bubbling between them for another week, but he didn’t want to have to apologise over the phone or on Skype either, assuming Dan would even accept his call.

There was a thump from inside the room and then the door was yanked open. “Fucking hell! What’s the emergency?” When Dan saw Phil standing in the corridor, his eyes darted away. “Oh, it’s you.”

Faced with Dan now, Phil wished he’d been able to come up with something to say. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting you, so…”

Phil sighed and rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes. They were grainy with tiredness and his bed was so far away – literally on the other side of the country.

“Dan,” he sighed, and met his eyes, “I’m really sorry. I’m just...so sorry. I can’t even tell you how much. I should never have spoken to you like that, especially in front of everyone in the tent. I know you were just concerned for me. I just...didn’t want to think about it anymore.”

Dan’s arms were folded protectively over his chest but his face gave away nothing.

“I…” He swallowed, wishing Dan would give him something, anything, to go on. “I don’t know what else to tell you. I’m just sorry and I hope I haven’t ruined everything.”

After a long pause, eventually Dan sighed and his arms dropped to his sides. “You don’t have to apologise. I mean, you do, but I accept your apology and we don’t need to go on about it anymore. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. I knew you didn’t want to talk about it. You told me you were fine and I should have just let it go.”

“You were worried.” Phil had to squeeze the words out, they made his throat so tight.

“Yeah, but given this isn’t a life or death situation that’s no reason to go against your wishes.” He suddenly frowned and cocked his head. “This isn’t life or death, is it? You haven’t recently acquired some never-before-heard-of, incurable disease for me to stress about?”

Phil almost choked on a laugh and shook his head. “No, nothing like that. As far as I know, I’m in perfect health. Thank you for caring.”

Dan nodded and then took a deep breath, looking around the floor. “So where’s your bag? Shouldn’t you be on your way to the train station by now?”

“I haven’t even finished packing.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and then groaned when he saw the time. “I should be on the train by now. It’s going to take me forever to get home at this hour. I better get going. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Dan nodded and closed the door gently behind him as Phil returned to his room. He was just zipping up his toiletry bag when a hesitant knock sounded at his door. Phil wasn’t sure why, but he was surprised when he opened it to reveal Dan on the other side.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“You should come home with me.” Dan spoke clearly, as if he’d practised the words in a mirror.

“...What?”

Dan sighed and rolled his eyes. “Come home with me. I don’t live that far from here. We have a guest room you can stay in tonight and then you can head home in the morning. You’re too tired to travel all the way up north right now.” When Phil said nothing, Dan hurried on, “It’s a selfish request really. If you go home now, I’ll be awake all night worried about you and I need my sleep if I want to be in good shape for next weekend, which I do, obviously.”

Phil smiled. “Obviously.” If he’d been less tired, he would have tried to politely put Dan off, in that way that people were supposed to do when faced with an offer like this, before reluctantly but gratefully accepting. But he couldn’t be bothered with any of that right now. “Okay. Thanks.”

Dan beamed. No one would have known that they had spent most of the day in a quasi-fight. “Great. Now hurry up and finish packing because I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. The quicker we get out of this place, the sooner we can find some food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technical: [ Chocolate Soufflé](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/hot_chocolate_souffle_95703) (Mary’s recipe)


	8. Week Eight - Pastry

“Mum?” Phil had asked, when she’d ventured into the kitchen to make some tea on Wednesday afternoon. Phil was elbow deep in flour, but what else was new? “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, love. What’s wrong?”

He steeled himself and was quiet for a moment as he continued to work his pastry dough. “Do you think it’s possible to love someone after only knowing them for a couple of months?”

She went very quiet. Only the sound of the kettle heating up broke the silence. “I think...it’s possible to love what you know of the person. But you should remember that you can’t know everything about them in that short a time. Some things you don’t find out until you’ve known them for years, because the opportunity just never presents itself.”

He could feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of his skull. “Does this have anything to do with that boy you stayed with on Sunday night?”

Phil sighed. “He’s not a boy, Mum. And his name is Dan.”

“Young man, then. Dan. Does this have anything to do with him?”

He shrugged and knew he gave himself away. He was a truly terrible actor, and his mum had always been able to read him better than anyone. “Does it matter if it does?”

She came around to stand on the opposite side of the kitchen bench and tried to catch his eye, but he made a point of being focused on his pastry.

“Of course it doesn’t matter,” she eventually said. “You know we don’t care about any of that, so long as you’re happy. I just worry about you, that’s all. You’re in a highly stressful situation and I don’t want you to get hurt if things don’t work out the way you imagine after it’s over.”

A highly stressful situation indeed, thought Phil as he stood at his station, waiting for Mel and Sue, and Mary and Paul, to enter the tent. He was at the front that weekend, so he had to be on his best behaviour for the cameras. Dan was stationed behind him, and Louise was on the other side of the tent, at the back.

“Good morning, bakers,” said Mel, “and welcome to Pastry Week. For your signature challenge, Mary and Paul would like you, please, to make twelve pastry parcels. They can be filled with anything you like.”

“You have three hours,” said Sue. “On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

They were back onto pastry again. Phil didn’t even like pastry that much, and he probably liked it even less now that he’d been making it over and over for the last week. He wasn’t sure who would be more glad when the competition was over: him or his family. Even his dad, who had a particular fondness for pasties and pies, had started taking Phil’s practice efforts to work, rather than hoarding them all for himself.

Dan, of course, was back in his element. He was even humming as he worked.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Phil said to him, pulling globs of dough off his fingers.

Dan shrugged and then smiled up at him. There was a light in his eyes that had been missing for a couple of weeks. “We’re working with pastry, Phil. What’s not to be happy about? Pastry is science. Pastry makes sense. It’s not beautiful like a dessert. It’s not delicate like chocolate. It’s strong and sturdy. It’s comforting.”

Phil shook his head. “You’re one of those people who chooses pie over cake, aren’t you? I knew there had to be something wrong with you.”

Dan grinned, but their conversation was cut short by the arrival of Mel and the judges.

“What are you making for us today, Phil?” Paul asked, already eyeing his pastry dough critically.

“I’m making lamb and mint pasties.”

“Ohhhh,” said Mel. “They sound delicious.”

“Have you made them before?” Mary asked and he nodded.

“They’re my dad’s favourite.” He laughed. “But I think he’s eaten enough of them over the last week to set him up for the next ten years.”

“And you’re doing a rough puff?” asked Paul. Apparently he could tell just by looking at the spread of ingredients across Phil’s bench.

“Yeah. It’s quicker and I think it’s just as good as a full puff pastry. Plus, I didn’t want to try and do a full puff in three hours only to have it fail.”

Paul nodded. “Alright. We’ll see you later, Phil.”

They rounded Phil’s bench to speak to Dan. Of course, Phil kept an ear open, even as he dropped his dough on the work surface and grabbed a rolling pin.

“Good morning, Dan,” said Mel. “What are your pastry parcels going to be filled with today?”

“Good morning.” He sounded so cheery. “Today I’m making spinach and feta parcels, with pine nuts.”

“A vegetarian option,” said Mary.

“Yeah. I figured most people would choose something meaty, and I like vegetarian dishes so why not go for something different?”

“Why pine nuts?” asked Paul.

“Texture mostly. They add a nice crunch against the soft cheese and stringy spinach, but they’re also a little bit buttery, and I find that balances the saltiness of the feta well.”

Paul nodded approvingly. Phil had found that Paul was almost always nodding approvingly when Dan explained himself. Dan was cut from the same cloth as Paul; they understood ingredients, and how they worked together. Dan might have been a Paul, if he’d done what he loved and gone to culinary school instead of studying law.

Although Dan was doing a proper puff pastry, he and Phil were working on roughly the same schedule, so they met at the fridge to drop off their pastry to chill.

“It’s like sending both our little pastry children off to school for the first time,” said Phil, holding a hand to his heart.

Dan arched an eyebrow and said, “Sure, Phil. It’s totally like that.” But he gave his folded pastry a pat before shutting the door gently.

Phil turned to look at where Mary and Paul were observing Rory, who had started his pastry again. “Do you think they have favourites?”

“Of course not,” Dan scoffed. “That’s the whole point of impartial judging.”

“Yeah, but they must have an idea of who they think will win, right? No one could judge that many bakes and not form some kind of prediction.”

Dan turned to consider them, his arms folded across his chest. “Maybe. But they still have to stay open-minded and judge everything on what’s in front of them at the time. That’s why some bakers who start off strong get sent home earlier than you think they will.”

“Are you surprised that we’re still here?”

The left side of Dan’s mouth pulled into a smile as he glanced at Phil. “I’m not surprised you’re still here.”

Phil’s eyes bulged. “Are you serious? I’ve been a fluke from the start.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re a really good baker, Phil. I won’t be surprised if you win this thing.”

“Are you two going to stand over here nattering all day?” asked Sue. “Or are you going to bake something? I only ask because I skimped on breakfast in preparation for this challenge.”

Phil flushed and hurried back to his station. Once he’d figured out that his feelings for Dan had…developed, he had promised himself that he wasn’t going to be really obvious about it. No one could know, especially Dan. Standing around talking as if he couldn’t get enough of being in Dan’s presence wasn’t going to help that, even if it was true.

He got to work on his lamb. Really, he was making a glorified sausage roll, but the trick was in the name. If you called a sausage roll a sausage roll, that’s all it could ever be. But if you called it a pasty and shaped it slightly differently, suddenly it was a whole other thing. That was another thing he’d learnt from the Bake Off: you could make anything work if you sold it the right way.

He folded his pastry three times over the course of the challenge and then chilled it a final time before he cut it into individual pieces and filled each with a dollop of filling that looked roughly equal to the rest.

“You’re not going to measure that?” Dan asked from behind him.

Phil, when he turned, saw all of Dan’s pastries lined up in neat rows along the work surface, filled with equal amounts of the spinach and feta mixture. “Nope. I’ve done them by eye ever since I started making them. They’ve always turned out okay before.”

Dan shuddered. “I don’t know how you live with such chaos, Phil.”

“You should put away your measuring spoons and try it sometime,” he said, grinning. “It’s really freeing.”

But Dan shook his head and started folding the corners of his pastry into the centre, to make little squares. “No thanks. I wouldn’t survive the aneurism.” He was silent for a moment and then looked up and said, “But we should bake together sometime. Maybe after all this is over. I could go up to see you, or you could come down, I guess.”

Phil’s mind went completely blank. He could already picture Dan lounging around the benches of his kitchen, getting in the way and organising all the utensils and ingredients in the most un-Phil-like way imaginable. It would be like when they baked together over Skype, but better, because Dan would actually be there to show him what he was trying to explain.

“That’s the best idea ever,” Phil said and couldn’t stifle the grin on his face.

Dan smiled, the smile he wore when he was truly pleased by something. “Let’s just get through the competition first, okay? Focus, Phil.”

Phil nodded and turned his attention back to his pasties. For the first time in living memory, he couldn’t wait for the summer to be over.

He whipped up a quick tomato chutney while his pasties were in the oven, and dug up a cute little blue ceramic bowl to dollop it into. He pulled his pasties from the oven and arranged them neatly on the plate. For once, he wasn’t rushed for time at the end of the challenge. He finished up with a minute to spare and sat back, admiring his pasties. They looked good, golden brown and flaky. He just had to hope now that the middle of the filling was cooked through and he would probably set himself up in the safe zone.

The judges came around to him first.

“They look very tempting,” said Mary, as Paul rifled through them, checking that they were all the same.

He turned one over and gave it a tap. “There’s a really nice colour on them, and they’re baked well. The undersides are perfectly cooked.” He cut one in half and Phil breathed a subtle sigh of relief when he saw that the lamb was cooked through.

“They taste delicious,” said Mary. “Like a gourmet sausage roll. They would be perfect for a little party at home, or a summer picnic lunch. They’re very satisfying.”

Internally, Phil winced at her sausage roll observation but managed to keep a straight face as Paul nodded and brushed off his fingers. He’d polished off his half without much effort so Phil was taking that as a win. He sat back and rested easy as they left his bench for Dan’s.

Of course, Paul marvelled over Dan’s pastry. “It’s perfectly golden and flaky. I’m really impressed by the number of layers you managed to get.” He cut one in half and even Phil was satisfied by the crunch of the pastry.

“There are a lot of spinach and feta pastries out there,” Paul said and Phil’s heart stopped. “But the addition of the pine nuts really take these to another level. They bring a subtle flavour and add so much to the texture.”

“I also like that you’ve chopped the nuts,” Mary said, “rather than kept them whole. It’s nice, too, to have an option without meat.”

Overall, they were most impressed by Dan’s pastries. Uncharacteristically, Louise had struggled and produced a stodgy pastry; Rory had just about burnt his. Like Phil, Mikayla had fallen somewhere in the middle.

Phil was feeling good after his signature, and managed to keep his mood up all through their lunch break. Pastry wasn’t really his thing, but he’d pulled off his bake well enough that he was only mildly nervous about the technical challenge. He had assumed early on in the competition that the pre-technical nerves would fade away the more of them he did but that hadn’t happened. The nerves were always there, to varying degrees.

“Bakers, this technical challenge is going to push you to the limits,” said Mel.

“The limits of pronunciation,” Sue said and smirked.

“Yes, today you’ll be making kouign amann.”

All the bakers had some sort of reaction. Mikayla and Louise looked around to see if anyone knew what this was, Phil and Rory frowned, and Dan said, “What?”

“Kouign amann,” Mel repeated, and Phil sounded it out silently, in his head, as if that might help him bake it properly. Queen-ah-mahn.

“These are Breton cakes made with a yeasted dough and butter to produce layers. You’ll need to make twelve and you have three and a half hours. Good luck, bakers. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

“You’re sure you’ve never heard of these before?” Phil asked Dan, after they’d both read the recipe.

Dan shook his head and plugged in his mixer to get started on the dough. “Never. I’m almost willing to believe that they’ve made it up.”

“Great.” So they were on their own then. At least all the bakers were on a level playing field. None of them had ever seen or even heard of these things. It really would come down to instincts and general knowledge, and that was how the technical challenge should be.

There was going to be a lot of waiting around during this challenge, if the recipe was anything to go by – and it almost wasn’t, there was so little to it. The kouign amann – kouign amanns? Was it already plural? How could he even tell? – had to rest once the dough had been prepared, and then three more times before they were shaped, and then again before they were baked. No indication had been given about how long the rest should last for, of course, but Phil was estimating a long rest to start, and then shorter ones as the challenge progressed.

Dan had the same idea. He made himself a cup of tea, and a coffee for Phil, to see them through the first resting period. They sat together at Phil’s bench and tried not to nervously check on their dough every two minutes.

“How long are you going to leave yours for?” Dan asked and sipped his tea slowly to test its temperature.

Phil hummed. “An hour?”

Dan looked unimpressed. “Be confident, Phil. So you’ve never made these things before. You know pastry well enough to make an educated guess.”

“An hour,” he repeated, and found that he actually believed himself.

Dan nodded approvingly. “That’s what I think too.” He stared around at the others in the tent, watching them thoughtfully. “Can you believe we’re so close to the end? We started off with twelve and now there are only five of us left. After today, four. And then the week after that, it’ll all be over.”

It would all be over and Phil would leave the tent a different person than he’d been when he entered it for the first time. Sure, in essentials he would be the same as always, but his confidence had grown, his skills had grown, and he wasn’t sure he could just go back to his regular old life. Swanning from casual job to casual job, looking for something he enjoyed enough to want to do it for the rest of his life, and baking on weekends. Plus, now he had Dan.

Despite Dan’s plans for them to bake together in the future, Phil’s mum was right. There was no telling how things between them would fall out once the competition was over. Phil could see it now. They would get together and bake once, maybe twice. And then life would get in the way. They lived so far from each other, it wasn’t like they could just drop by on a Sunday afternoon. Dan would go back to uni – or not, hopefully – and Phil would try to find something else to do with his life, and maybe they would Skype a few times, and then it would all just fade away as there were more demands on their time. And then Dan would just be that guy he met on a baking show once.

“Phil? Phil!”

Phil snapped his attention back to Dan’s face. His mouth was downturned and there was a slight frown on his forehead.

“Are you okay?” Dan asked. “You look...kind of sad. The kouign amann won’t be that bad. Probably.”

Phil forced a laugh but it sounded hollow and kind of watery. “Yeah, I know.” Dan looked like he was gearing himself up to push more, but Phil didn’t want to think about the bleakness of his post-Dan future anymore so he grabbed his recipe from where it was sitting on the bench nearby and pointed to one of the final steps. “So it says here that we have to add sugar between a layer of pastry. What’d you reckon that means?”

It was obvious from the look on Dan’s face that he knew Phil was trying to distract him, but he turned his attention to the recipe and repeated the steps under his breath. “Hmmm. Well, I think it means exactly what it sounds like. We add sugar between a layer.”

“But which layer? The last one? The middle one? Should we not add a little bit into each layer? That way the sugar will be evenly distributed through the whole cake.”

Dan’s face scrunched up in thought and he tapped out a beat on his mug absentmindedly. “There must be a trick to it. Or maybe it doesn’t matter.”

They had to get back to their dough before they could talk about it further. They folded the butter into their dough and rolled it out, then folded it over itself. Then it went into the fridge to chill. They repeated this twice more and Phil found, from a quick walk around the tent during one of the chilling periods, that he and Dan weren’t the only ones wondering about when to include the sugar. Louise had chosen the first layer on the basis that it would flavour the pastry as she continued working with it. Rory had chosen the middle layer, because then it would probably affect the top and bottom equally, and Mikayla figured she couldn’t go wrong if she just put sugar in every layer. Phil ultimately decided to put his sugar into the last layer, because he had as much chance of being right as anyone else. He was pleased to learn that Dan had also chosen the last layer, when he returned to his bench to shape his pastry and put it in the oven.

“What’s your justification then?” Phil asked, as they waited for their pastries to bake.

Dan shrugged. “Dunno. Gut feeling? Given that no one else apparently has a clue, that seems as good a reason as any.”

None of them knew what they were looking for in the bake so it was a guessing game. Glancing around, Phil couldn’t see any of the bakers around the tent because they were all, him included, crouched in front of their ovens, trying to figure out when their kouign amann should be coming out.

Phil probably left his a bit too long, when he took them out with five minutes left on the clock. They were very brown on top, almost too brown, but it was hard to tell with the sugar they’d been told to add before putting them in the oven. He fumbled them onto a wire cooling rack and fanned them with a biscuit tray to help speed the cooling process, then arranged them as neatly as he could on a plate before time was called.

Poor Louise, who was judged first, hadn’t had a good time.

“I’m not even sure if there’s sugar in there,” Mary said, chewing a piece thoughtfully.

“It’s possible it was included in the first layer,” said Paul and looked up to the bakers to explain. “You should have included the sugar in the last layer. If you put it in at any other stage, it will melt into the pastry as you work with it and it won’t be evident in the final bake.”

Louise, Rory and Mikayla all slumped in disappointment but Dan, who was judged second, was in a much better mood.

“These are quite good,” Paul said, cutting one of Dan’s bakes in half and tasting it. “Good caramelisation on the top. Sugar included in the last layer. They probably could have used a bit longer in the oven but the layers are good.”

“They’ve got a lovely crunch on the top,” said Mary and smiled.

Phil was judged last and he honestly had no idea how well or poorly he had performed but at least he’d put the sugar in the right place. That had to count for something, even if it was only a very small something.

“These have been slightly overbaked,” said Mary. “They look too dark, even taking into account the caramelised sugar.”

Phil let out a small, soft sigh and tried not to be too discouraged.

“Yeah,” Paul agreed. “But they don’t taste too bad. The layers aren’t quite as distinct but they’re there. I think they were probably well-rested, just left in the oven a bit too long.”

In the end, Louise came last. She hid her face in her hands as Phil rubbed her shoulder comfortingly and tried not to think about how a last-place technical after a bad morning was basically the death knell for a baker. Rory placed second-last, Mikayla was third, Phil scraped into second and Dan claimed the top spot.

“Well done, Dan,” Sue said, as they were getting ready to leave the tent for the day. “Will you be adding that one to your repertoire?”

Dan scoffed and shook his head forcefully. “No way. That one was too obscure, even for me.”

*** * ***

Showstopper day was bright and sunny, the complete opposite of Phil’s mood. He and Dan had spent some time after dinner trying to cheer up Louise, who was convinced she would be the next one eliminated. Eventually she’d taken herself off to bed but Dan and Phil had stayed up talking. Despite their natural inclinations, Phil had steered the conversation clear of baking. If his time with Dan was limited, and he was sure now that it was, then he wanted to learn as much as he could before he never saw Dan again.

“What happened to sunshine and rainbows Phil Lester?” Dan asked, as they waited for the challenge to start. “You’re looking so gloomy today. You’re looking like me.”

“I just don’t want Louise to get sent home,” Phil said, because the last thing he was going to do was admit to Dan that he wanted to see him every day for the rest of his life, to say nothing of the increasingly non-platonic things Phil was feeling.

“Yeah, same,” Dan said, and cast a glance over at Louise. The makeup artists had done an impressive job hiding the bags under her eyes. “I’m sure she’ll pull through, though. She’s Louise. She’s been so consistent the whole way through.”

Phil had to turn away. He knew it was stupid, but he was unreasonably angry that Dan hadn’t called him out on the lie, that he apparently hadn’t noticed it at all. Having Dan figure the whole thing out would be so much easier than Phil having to own up to it himself, even though he wasn’t really sure if he wanted Dan to know at all.

“Bakers,” said Mel, rubbing her hands together, “welcome to your showstopper challenge.”

“Today, Mary and Paul would like you to make twenty-four eclairs. You need to produce two different flavours, twelve of each. They must be made of choux pastry, have some kind of filling and an icing of some description on top.”

“You have three and a half hours. Good luck, bakers. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Three and a half hours was not a lot of time to make eclairs, Phil had found, especially showstopper eclairs. Plus, before a couple of weeks ago, he hadn’t spent a whole lot of time working with choux pastry at all so the newness of it didn’t help him. Still, he thought he’d settled on a recipe that was good enough to get him through.

“I’m working with citrus flavours,” he explained to Mary, Paul, and Sue, not long after the challenge began. “My eclairs will be lemon meringue and key lime.”

“Key lime,” said Paul, a broad smile on his face.

“Congratulations, Phil,” said Sue. “You’ve already won.”

He laughed. “If only it were that easy. Plus now there’s a lot of pressure. I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

“Just produce a batch of delicious, showstopping eclairs,” Mary said, “and we won’t be disappointed.”

Right, as if it were that easy, he thought as they walked away, and he focused on the lemon curd he would be adding to the whipped cream filling for his lemon meringue eclairs.

“How are you feeling today, Dan?” Sue asked.

“Okay actually. I’m feeling good about my flavours. Hopefully there are no disasters.”

“What are you making for us?” Mary asked.

“Today I’m doing chocolate and cherry eclairs, and raspberry ripple eclairs.”

“Chocolate?” Paul said. “Are you putting that in the pastry?”

“Yeah. I’m doing two batches of choux, one with chocolate and one without.”

“Adding chocolate to choux can be risky.”

Dan chuckled. “The first time I tried it, it was a complete flop. But I think I’ve figured it out since then.”

“We certainly hope so!” said Mary. “Your flavours sound good so we’ll leave you to get on with it.”

Dan wasn’t the only one playing with fire, or chocolate, rather. Mikayla had gone for the classic combination of chocolate and peanut butter for one of her flavours, but everyone else was playing it safe with a regular choux mixture.

There was no reason for Phil to run into trouble. Of course, things had a way of going awry in the tent, but even still, there was no explanation for the way his morning progressed. To make matters worse, he couldn’t get Dan out of his head, which, okay, wasn’t so unusual but this time it was distracting. Phil was more aware of what was going on at Dan’s bench than he was about his own. Actually, thinking about it more, maybe that was the problem.

Phil grumbled as he chucked his first lot of pastry in the bin, and then banged the saucepan back on the stovetop. He had planned his timing out very carefully when he sat down to write out his recipes but having to start his choux from scratch was going to put him behind.

“What’s wrong?” asked Dan. “Are you starting again?”

“My choux split.”

He tried to force himself to focus, as he had when things were going wrong during Bread Week, which felt like an eternity ago now. But for some reason it wasn’t the same. Then, he had been scared, the churning pit of his stomach a constant reminder that he might be sent home. This time, he felt...angry. He couldn’t explain it, there was no reason for him to feel this way. Except that the more he thought about it, the more he found things to be angry about.

He was angry at Mary and Paul, for setting them an eclair challenge. He was angry at the choux, for not working. He was angry at Louise for always being so kind. He was angry at Martyn, for putting him forward for the Bake Off in the first place. He was angry at the competition for showing him that there was more to life than what he’d had of it so far. He was angry at Dan, stupid Dan, with his stupid hair and his stupid eyes and his stupid smirk-smile. Dan, with his perfect time-keeping and perfect bakes, who was going to go off and be wildly successful and marry a beautiful girl and have beautiful children and live a perfect, Phil-less life. For one flash of a second, Phil wished that he had never met Dan at all.

That stopped him short. He propped his fists against the edge of his bench and rested his weight on his arms. Somehow, he’d produced and piped his choux, and got his shells in the oven. His mixer was whirring up a meringue, his lemon curd was cooling. There was an icing mixture in front of him, but he didn’t know how it had gotten there or how far into the challenge he was. All he knew was that he was breathing heavily and that there was a stinging behind his eyes and that he was so tired, all of a sudden.

“Phil, what’s wrong?” Dan’s voice sounded far away, but Phil could feel the heat of him alongside his body. “Phil? Phil?” He sounded worried, scared. But that was silly. Dan was the kind of person who wasn’t scared of anything. Not like Phil. Dan was about as unlike Phil as it was possible for a person to be.

“Phil!”

He looked up. Dan was next to him, well inside his personal bubble and gripping one of Phil’s elbows. Mel and Sue were also nearby, shielding him from the cameras and the main action of the tent. Either no one else had noticed what was going on, or everyone was politely ignoring him.

“Phil, you’re freaking me out,” Dan said, and his grip tightened almost painfully. “Please, say something.”

His throat was dry so he cleared it and then swallowed. “Sorry. I...I don’t really know what came over me.”

“Me either.” Dan sounded relieved. “You were like a machine. I’ve never seen you like that before. You were just powering through, you didn’t say a word. And then you just sort of froze and your breathing went funny and I was starting to think you were going to pass out or something.”

“You’re rambling,” Phil said and Dan snapped his mouth shut.

“It’s okay,” said Mel, coming forward to rub his back soothingly. “This happens sometimes. Bakers just reach a breaking point.”

“So I’m having a breakdown?” He sounded remarkably calm. If he’d stopped to think about it, he would have expected some level of hysteria.

“That’s such an ugly word,” said Sue.

The competition was still raging. There was a clang and then a curse from the other side of the tent and they all turned to watch the cameras zero in on Rory, who had just dropped his bowl of cream all over the floor.

“I better go see to that,” said Sue and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll be alright, Phil. Deep breaths.”

“How much longer do we have?” he asked and Mel glanced at her watch.

“Half an hour.”

His eyes slipped shut. He still had so much left to do. “I’m never going to finish in time.”

“Yes, you will,” said Dan. He was trying to sound confident but the tremor in his voice gave him away.

“My choux is still in the oven, the meringue isn’t finished and I still have to make all the cream, plus assemble everything. It’s too much. It’s all too much.”

“Phil.” Dan sounded stern now and gave him a little shake. “Stop that right now. You’ve got plenty of time.”

“Easy for you to say. You always finish early.”

“So what?” Dan was angry now. He was hiding it well, his voice was even but it was too even, and Phil could tell. “You are ten times the baker I am. I don’t have an ounce of your creativity or your passion. You bake because you love it, and because you love to make people happy with your creations. I bake because it’s the one thing in my whole life I’ve always been good at. Somewhere along the line I grew to love it too, but I started out doing it because I needed to have something. I needed to prove that I wasn’t a complete failure.”

Phil shook his head, as if he could shake Dan’s words out of his ears. “You’re not a failure, Dan.”

“No, I’m not. And neither are you. So why are you acting like one all of a sudden?” Dan sighed, a ragged sigh, as if all the fight had gone out of him. “Please, Phil. Let’s just get through this challenge, okay? I’ll help you if you need me to. I don’t want you to go home.”

Phil took a deep breath and let it out steadily, then he nodded and straightened. “Yeah, alright. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, love,” Mel said and he startled – he had almost forgotten she was there. “Like I said, this happens sometimes. Just do your best.” She gave his shoulder another rub and went off to look after someone else.

“I’m going to take my shells out,” he told Dan, after a quick glance into his oven. “They’ll be well and truly dried out by now.”

“Good idea. Just get them filled and iced. There’s plenty of time for that.”

Dan was clearly trying to remain calm in an effort to keep Phil’s blood pressure down. They were staring down the final twenty minutes of the challenge, and that wasn’t much time to assemble twenty-four eclairs and pretty them up enough for Mary and Paul.

He focused on the lemon meringue eclairs first. He folded his cream and lemon curd together and piped a generous portion onto twelve of the bottom shells. The piping was messy, that much was obvious, but at least it was there. He sandwiched the tops on and then moved on to make the key lime cream filling – he would come back to decorate the tops later, if he had time; if nothing else, he was determined now to present all twenty-four eclairs.

Dan appeared just after Sue called out that there were ten minutes to go. He wiped his hands on his apron and reached for a piping bag. “What do you need me to do?”

For a moment, he was wracked with guilt. He had the awful feeling that Dan had rushed through decorating his own eclairs just so he could come around about help him.

“Don’t start,” Dan warned. “Just tell me what to do.”

Phil jerked his head towards the bowl of Italian meringue waiting by the mixer. “Pipe that onto those eclairs in front of you. Just little round peaks. You should be able to get six on each eclair.”

Dan nodded and spooned the meringue carefully into the bag. He did a test pipe and then started on the eclairs. Dan worked as quickly as he did everything else, and had already piped tops onto three eclairs by the time Phil was starting to fill the shells for his lime eclairs. That was when Louise appeared on the opposite side of the bench.

“You need another pair of hands?” she asked.

Phil was overcome by the urge to cry but managed to hold it together. Where had these two people been all his life?

“Are you finished?” he asked and she nodded quickly.

“Yeah. Do these need decoration?” She pointed to the eclairs Dan was working on.

“There are halved slices of candied lemon in the fridge,” Phil said. He remembered setting them aside right at the start of the challenge. “If you could just put one on each, that would be great.”

“No problem.”

With two minutes to go, Phil finished filling his lime eclairs and grabbed his icing. It was a delicate pale green, and he would have admired it if he’d had a moment to breath. Instead, he grabbed a lime, zested it into the icing and gave it a quick stir. Then he began smoothing it over his lime eclairs.

Time was running out. He could almost hear the clock ticking down, loud in his ears. He was aware of Dan and Louise on the periphery, finishing up the lemon meringue eclairs and arranging them on the cake stand. They started moving the lime ones across too, as soon as he had finished with them. He threw his spoon down as soon as he’d finished the last one and just managed to get it on the stand as Mel yelled, “Time’s up! Bakers, step away from the choux.”

Phil was breathing as if he’d run a marathon. His vision blurred and he reached out to drag a stool close enough that he could fall onto it.

“Good job, Phil,” Louise said, smiling gently and then she disappeared back to her own bench.

Dan hugged him around the shoulders. “I told you you could do it.”

But Phil shook his head and then rubbed at his eyes. “I wouldn’t have without you and Louise. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t deserve to go home, Phil. You’ve worked really hard.”

Phil nodded and then Dan moved away, back to his own bench, so they could prepare for judging.

Mikayla was called up first and maintained her safe middle-ground after Mary and Paul agreed that her eclairs were tasty but hadn’t dried out enough before being filled. Louise’s tropical eclair went down well, but Paul found her pistachio creation too subtle, almost bland. Phil hoped with everything that he had that she had done enough to make it through, especially after she'd gone to all the trouble of helping him get his own eclairs done. Dan was called up next.

“They look a bit rushed,” Mary said gently, but in a leading way, as if she expected him to explain himself. But Dan remained silent and straight-faced, hands folded neatly in front of him.

Phil dropped his chin into his hand and looked over his eclairs. The meringue ones looked particularly nice. How cruel would it be if Dan or Louise got dragged through the mud – or even worse, eliminated – because they had wanted to help him? He didn’t deserve to get through any more than either of them. In fact, he probably deserved it less.

Mary and Paul started with Dan’s raspberry ripple eclairs. There was a satisfying crunch as they bit through the top, and the cream and jam filling oozed out.

Paul nodded. “They might not look like the best thing you’ve ever produced, but they taste good. The tartness of the jam cuts through the sweetness of the cream and the icing really well.”

Mary actually hummed in delight as they tasted his chocolate and cherry eclairs. “They’re very delicious,” she said, a wide smile on her face. “The cherry mousse is creamy and decadent, and the chocolate sauce on the top adds a hint of bitterness. I was worried it would be sickly sweet.”

“You’ve cooked the choux really well, too,” said Paul. “People often underbake chocolate choux, because they can’t tell when it’s done, what with the dark colour. But you’ve got it spot on. Well done, Dan.”

Rory was next and the bowl of cream he had dropped was the least of his problems. Paul took one bite of Rory’s rose-flavoured eclair and almost gagged. Instead, he forced it down and coughed. “Way too much rose, Rory. Way too much.”

The bakers watched with growing horror as Mary and Paul sampled his lavender eclairs next. Louise’s eyes were wide over the hands she had clasped to her mouth, and Dan was peeking through his fingers as the scene unfolded.

To their credit, Mary and Paul maintained mostly straight faces. Mary said, in her sweet and gentle way, “I wouldn’t recommend rose and lavender in the future. They’re very strong flavours, you see, and a little goes a long way. Too much and it just tastes like you’re eating soap.”

Well, Phil thought, as he took his eclairs up to take Rory’s place. No matter what happened, he probably couldn’t do worse than that.

“You’re eclairs don’t look like they’ve been given equal amounts of attention,” Mary observed. “The lemon meringue ones are very nicely decorated and finished, but the lime ones look like you’ve just slopped some icing on them. What are the green flecks in the icing?”

“Lime zest,” he said, and was proud of his voice for not wavering.

They tried the lime eclairs first and Paul shrugged. “They’re good but they’re not amazing. I feel you could have done more with the filling, to elevate it somehow.”

Phil nodded and watched as Paul cut one of the lemon meringue eclairs in half. “I would have prefered some colour on the meringue,” he said, handing a piece to Mary. “If you’d finished them off with the blow torch, it would have made them just a little bit more special.”

“It does taste nice, though,” said Mary. “The meringue is lovely and light, and the lemon curd adds freshness and a zingy sourness that compliments the marshmallowy meringue.”

He returned to his bench feeling drained. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be proud. There was still the judging to get through; he thought he’d done enough to make it through himself, and he knew Dan would be safe, but Louise was still in danger.

It was obviously all she could think about, as they sat waiting for Mary and Paul to return from their deliberation.

“You’ll be fine, Louise,” said Dan, leaning over Phil to speak lowly to her. “There’s no way you’ll be sent home after Rory’s not-so-delicious bouquet.”

“I did so poorly yesterday, though.”

“He didn’t do well either, though,” Phil said. “He didn’t beat you by much in the technical, and I think they liked your signature more than they liked his.”

She sighed and her hands rubbed over and around each other. “Maybe.”

They didn’t have to wait long for Mary and Paul to re-enter the tent – the decisions were probably pretty easy that week.

“This week,” said Mel, “I’ve got the fun job. This weekend our star baker got nutty and mastered the Breton pastry-cake that no one but Paul had ever heard of. Yes, for the third time, Dan, congratulations, you’re star baker.”

Dan’s mouth dropped open and he looked around at Phil, who had to laugh at his genuine shock. “Who else did you think it was going to be?” Phil asked and Dan shook his head. For once he had nothing to say.

“Right,” said Sue, once the applause had died down. “Unfortunately, as you know, we can’t take everyone with us to the semi-final. Today, the baker we have to say goodbye to is…”

Louise’s fingers were going to rub themselves raw so Phil reached over to grab them. Her hands were so cold he almost recoiled but instead he tightened his grip.

“Rory.”

All three of them breathed a sigh of relief, even though Dan and Phil had been sure Louise was going to make it through after Rory had presented something so inedible. And now there was just one more week between them and the finals. They could all get there, they could all make it. It was so close, Phil could almost touch it.

Louise gave Phil a quick hug and then stood to console Rory, and Phil turned to Dan, who still looked mildly shell-shocked.

“Seriously,” said Phil, “who did you think was going to win? You were the only one this week who didn’t make any major screw ups.”

Dan shrugged. “I dunno. I wasn’t really thinking about it, to be honest.”

“Well, congratulations. Three star bakers to your name now. Looks like you’re the one to beat.”

Dan laughed self-consciously. “That’s not true...but…”

Phil waited and then gave him a nudge when he didn’t look like he was going to continue. “But what?”

There was a light back in his eyes again, the one that had been there the morning before, excited and slightly hopeful. “Well, the thing is, I thought when I came here that I would maybe make it to week five. Six, if I was lucky. But next week is week nine, the semi-final. I might actually be able to win this thing, Phil.”

“Would that make you happy?”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah. It would. It would actually make all those hours I put off doing schoolwork so I could bake something worth it. Maybe I could turn this baking thing into something after all. Plus, who doesn’t like to win?”

So that was it then. Phil had a new goal. He was going to win Dan the Great British Bake Off. Between the two of them, how hard could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil’s signature: [ Lamb and mint pasties](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/minted_lamb_pasties_54960) (Richard’s recipe, Season 5)  
> Dan’s signature: [ Spinach, feta and pine nut parcels](http://paulhollywood.com/recipes/spinach-feta-pine-nut-parcels/) (Paul’s recipe)  
> Technical: [ Kouign amann](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/kouign_amann_09102) (Paul’s recipe)   
> Phil’s showstopper: Lemon meringue eclairs (inspired by Chetna’s recipe, Season 5) and key lime eclairs  
> Dan’s showstopper: [ Raspberry ripple eclairs](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/raspberry_ripple_clairs_22882) (Nancy’s recipe, Season 5) and chocolate and cherry eclairs


	9. Week Nine - Patisserie

The tent looked a lot bigger with only four bakers left in it. The atmosphere was different too. The air felt heavier, weighed down with expectation maybe. As they waited for the judges to arrive, the bakers were quiet. Phil was at the back of the tent, with Louise at the bench in front of him; Dan and Mikayla were on the opposite side. When they got the signal that the judges were about to enter, Phil took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Only three challenges stood between him and Dan making it into the final. He knew from experience how quickly they would pass. He just needed to keep calm and stay on top of things, and everything would be fine.

“Good morning, bakers,” said Sue, “and welcome to the semi-final.”

“This week we’re getting fancy,” said Mel, “with a focus on patisserie. These are the cakes and pastries that you see in shop windows, the ones Mary and Paul make look oh-so easy.”

“For your signature challenge, we would like you each to make three different types of petit four, which is a bite-sized confectionary often served after a meal. One needs to be a biscuit, one needs to be a cake and one needs to use some sort of pastry. You must present six of each.”

“You have four hours to complete this challenge. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

There was going to be a lot to do in just four hours but Phil wasn’t sure why he was surprised. This was the semi-final, after all; it wasn’t as if they were going to make things easy. The first thing he had to do was get his pastry made and chilling, then he would do his cakes, and the biscuits would come last, and he would assemble his pastries between doing all that.

No one was talking, he noticed, as he started combining his pastry. That was unusual. Every other week had been filled with chatting and laughter and commiserations over not having any idea about how to bake what they needed to bake. Clearly everyone wanted to get through to the final. But what would everyone else say if they knew Phil only wanted to get through so he could help Dan win? They would probably think he was crazy, after having gone through everything they had.

“Good morning, Phil,” Mel said and Phil jumped to find her, Mary and Paul standing on the opposite side of his station.

“Good morning.”

Mary looked around at all of his ingredients and then folded her hands neatly on the edge of his bench. “What are your petit four going to be today?”

“First I’m making peaches and cream tartlets, then I’m making almond cakes and then I’m doing Viennese fingers.”

“An interesting mix,” Paul said. “Are you worried putting peaches into pastry?”

“I think I can bake the base well enough to avoid a soggy bottom.” Phil tried to subtly cross his fingers where the judges couldn’t see. His pastry had been hit and miss when he practised at home, so he was hoping everything would work out today.

“I’ll be checking,” Paul warned and Phil nodded quickly, before they walked away. He didn’t think he would ever get over the feeling of being in trouble at school when faced with Paul Hollywood’s steely gaze.

They stopped at Dan’s station next, and it wasn’t even an effort to overhear what they were saying this time.

“For my pastry, I’m doing baklava.”

“I love baklava,” said Paul. “Are you using traditional flavours?”

Of course, Dan shook his head. “Chocolate and coffee. Then, for my biscuits I’m making blackberry macarons, and I’m doing mini Sachertortes for my cake.”

“You’ve got a lot to do,” Mary said.

Dan shrugged. “Everyone does. I just need to stick to time.”

“All right,” said Mel, “well, we’ll stop distracting you. Good luck, Dan.”

They move off to speak to Mikayla and Phil breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t sounded overly concerned about anything Dan had chosen to bake. That was a good sign. And Dan was a good enough baker that he could pull off what he had set out to do.

With his pastry in the fridge, Phil started on his almond cakes. He was taking a risk with these; they were simple but he was hoping he could turn that into classic and elegant, so long as he baked them perfectly. If he screwed the cakes up there would be no redeeming them in the judges’ eyes.

Across the tent, Dan was multi-tasking like Phil had never seen him multi-task before. While he rolled out his filo pastry, the mixer was going for his Sachertorte and his macarons were resting at the end of the bench. Dan had told him as they practised their bakes over Skype on Thursday morning that he was worried about getting everything done in time, but he seemed to be powering through.

Phil got his cakes into the oven and pulled his pastry out of the fridge so that he could get it into the tins. He worked quickly; the challenge was already half over and he still had to blind bake his pastry cases, make his biscuits and then bake his tartlets. It didn’t sound like a lot when he thought about it like that, but each of those points could be broken down into a whole list of things to do, and that was where he might get stuck.

He wanted to check on Dan but there was no time, and that made Phil uneasy. He couldn’t remember a week since they’d become friends where they hadn’t wandered over to each other’s benches to see what the other was doing, and taste test the ingredients. Phil was itching to talk to him, to see his macarons up close, to ask if he needed help with anything.

The biscuits were made while the cakes and pastry cases were baking, and they were the only element of this entire challenge that Phil wasn’t worried about because he’d made them so many times before. Viennese fingers were his mum’s favourite “fancy biscuit”, the ones he baked her every year for Mother’s Day, and on the rare occasions she had guests over.

He took the cakes and pastry cases out of the oven, and then put the biscuits in. The cakes and cases were set aside to cool. Then, he stopped to take a breath. He felt like he’d been caught in a whirlwind, he hadn’t stopped moving since the challenge had started. By the way Louise was guzzling a bottle of water, she must have felt the same.

He was just about to start on the peaches for his tarts when Dan appeared at his side.

“What are you doing over here?” Phil asked, trying not to sound too alarmed. “Don’t you have things you should be doing?”

“Everything is in the oven right now,” Dan said and leaned in to peer at his almond cakes. “I have a minute to spare. These are pretty.”

Phil glanced over from where he was removing the stones from his peaches. “You don’t think they’re too simple?”

Dan shook his head. “I like them. With just the almond on top, they look very delicate and attractive. I have to say, I’m surprised at you, Phil. You’re not usually so minimalist.”

Phil chuckled. “Thanks? Now I just have to hope that Mary and Paul agree with you.”

“Just be confident. I better get back to my oven. I’ll see you later.”

Phil nodded but he was already distracted by his attempts to properly slice his peaches. He didn’t want them to be too thick, but he didn’t want them to be too thin either. It was a delicate balance, but he eventually managed to layer his cases with fruit and stick them back in the oven. While he waited for them to cook, he melted some chocolate to dip his biscuits into and whipped the cream for his tarts. He couldn’t even pretend that he wasn’t relieved when Sue called that there were only ten minutes left in the challenge. Still, it was a scramble to get the cream onto his tarts and then get everything arranged neatly on the tiered cake stand. At least he wasn’t the only one who looked in a rush.

From the other side of the tent, Dan cursed and Phil’s head shot up. “What’s wrong?” he asked as Dan ran past.

On his way back, Dan was clutching a pallet knife and his face was flushed. “My macarons are a complete flop. They’re all cracked on top.”

Phil winced but didn’t have time to offer any words of support before Dan had hurried off back to his bench.

The judging started with Mikayla; Phil tried not to be too disappointed when Mary and Paul complimented all of her bakes. He genuinely liked Mikayla, she was funky and effortlessly cool, but if Phil wanted him, Dan and Louise to all make it into the final, then Mikayla would have to go, and Phil found that he could be content with that.

Dan was judged next.

“Well,” said Paul and pointedly picked up a cracked macaron.

“Yeah,” Dan said. Phil could see one of his toes digging into the carpet. “Sorry. I think I had the oven too high.”

“They’re a nice colour anyway,” Mary said and Phil had to agree. The lavender purple was eye-catching and delicate. “You made the blackberry jam yourself?”

“Yeah,” Dan said and Mary nodded approvingly.

Mary and Paul each took a bite of macaron and chewed thoughtfully, then Paul said, “They’re quite hard, not chewy like you’d expect. Add to that the cracked shells, and they’re pretty disappointing.”

“The jam is nice,” Mary allowed, and then they moved on to the Sachertorte.

They both complimented the shiny chocolate glaze, “And I quite like the elegant ‘S’ piped on top of each cake,” said Mary, but then both Mary and Paul found the cakes a bit dry.

With each problem the judges found with Dan’s bakes, Phil’s stomach clenched tighter and tighter. He couldn’t even imagine how Dan, who prided himself on his meticulous bakes, was feeling.

The baklava was tasted last.

“You can smell the coffee,” Mary said as she held one in her hand. “And they’re lovely and light. The pastry is a good colour.”

Flakes of pastry fell all over the plate as Mary and Paul each took a bite. Dan grinned and Mel pinched one for herself.

“That tastes really good,” Paul said, wiping his fingers. “The pastry is excellent, I love the bitter earthiness of the coffee. It’s just a shame about your other bakes.”

The look Dan shot Phil after the judges left communicated nothing but disappointment. Phil was trying to stay positive. This was only the first challenge of the weekend; people had come back from poor signatures before. Dan himself had done it, back in Dessert Week. There was no reason to worry just yet.

Louise was judged next and also did well, though Paul made a point of saying that she had overbaked her pastry. Phil couldn’t be surprised by that; pastry had never been Louise’s strong point.

By the time Mary and Paul arrived at his bench, Phil wasn’t sure how they could stomach any more sweets. Even Phil would have found himself struggling.

They looked over his display and Mary’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Everything is very...beige,” she said and Phil looked over his bakes. It was funny how it took someone pointing it out for him to see it himself. The pastry cases, the cakes and the biscuits were all roughly the same colour. There was the dark brown of the chocolate on the biscuits and the white of the cream on the tarts, but Phil wasn’t sure they counted as colours.

“The tarts are too big,” Paul said as he pulled one down onto the plate. Then he tipped it to the side and scrapped his fork over the bottom. “And a bit soggy.”

He cut it in half so they could see the inside and then ate a forkful each. “I like the texture of the peaches,” Mary eventually said, “but the pastry is soggy and I would have liked to see you do something more with the cream than just pipe it on top.”

They tasted the Viennese fingers next. “They’re smooth and creamy, they’ve got a great texture,” said Paul. “The chocolate adds a nice lingering taste as well.”

Finally, they arrived at the almond cakes.

“These are almost too big,” said Paul. “And they look very simple.”

But Mary shrugged. “I think they look quite classy, but it’s true that petit four are normally more elaborate.”

They both took a bite and Phil held his breath. “The texture is good,” Paul said, “but they’re very sweet.”

“Too sweet,” said Mary. “You could have added some apple into them, to add some tartness and cut through all that sweetness.”

Phil nodded but as soon as the cameras were gone, he rubbed his face with his hands.

“That could have gone better,” Dan said. Phil didn’t even jump anymore, he was so used to him just appearing out of nowhere.

“You’re telling me.”

Dan took a deep breath. “It’s fine. This is just the beginning. We just need to make sure we come back from this and we’ll be fine.”

He looked like he was trying really hard to look confident.

“You think they’re going to make it easy?” Phil asked.

Dan scoffed. “Of course not. But we’re both talented bakers. Whatever they throw at us, we’ll make it work. We’re not out yet, Phil.”

*** * ***

“One challenge down, two to go,” Mel said. “It’s time for the technical challenge.”

“Mary and Paul,” said Sue, “we don’t need you for this bit so off you go. We’ll see you later.”

Once Mary and Paul were gone, Mel looked around at each of the bakers and said, “Today we would like you make a Schichttorte.”

Another bake Phil would embarrass himself trying to pronounce then. Great.

“This is a German cake made of twenty, wafer-thin layers,” said Sue.

“Twenty?” Dan repeated.

Sue smiled and nodded. “That’s what I said. Twenty. It’s glazed in chocolate and decorated with vanilla glaze piping. You have two and a half hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

“A cake with twenty layers,” Phil said, incredulous. “I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“And you thought a three-layer pie was bad,” Dan said and Phil laughed.

That brief interaction set the tone for the challenge. There had been so much to do in the morning that no one had much time to even think about talking or joking around. This time they were at least all united by this weird twenty-layer cake.

“We have to cook it under the grill?” Louise asked, turning to face the rest of them with the recipe in her hand. “Is that right?”

“Looks like it,” Phil said, rereading the recipe while he separated his eggs. “Has anyone ever grilled a cake before?”

Of course, none of them had.

“You know,” Dan said, over the sound of his mixer, “sometimes I think that Mary and Paul just have this underground lair full of books about recipes that no one has ever heard of and they just randomly dust some off every year to torture us with.”

“Careful,” said Sue, as she strolled past. “With theories like that, you’ll start sounding like Phil.”

With all the ingredients combined, it wasn’t so much a mixture as a batter. And there wasn’t a lot of it either.

“This is going to make a twenty-layer cake?” Phil asked the tent and grabbed the recipe to read it through again. He must have missed something. “Are you sure?”

Louise already had her first layer under the grill and she was watching it closely but still managed to say, “The layers are really thin, like pancakes. You don’t need much.”

Phil hummed and then shrugged. “Alright. I guess I’ll take your word for it.”

The idea of the cake was that the layers alternated. One was light, the next was dark, then the next was light, and then the one after that was dark, all the way through to twenty. It was a cake that required close attention. With only a couple of minutes difference between the light and dark layers, over or under doing it would ruin them. By the time he was five layers in, Phil’s back was aching, from where he kept bending to watch the cake. Dan was clearly having the same problem.

“This is not a cake for tall people,” Dan said, rubbing his back. He shot a jealous glance at Mikayla, who was about half Dan’s height and clearly not having the same problem.

“I’m sure it’ll taste good at the end,” Phil said. He was squinting as he counted his layers and then added another spoonful of batter.

“If we ever get to the end,” Dan said. “This is taking forever.”

“It does feel like it’s taking a long time, doesn’t it?” Louise said and pulled her cake out from under the grill to add another layer. Of course, hers looked perfect.

“It’s because it’s got so many repetitive stages,” Phil said, bent back in front of the grill again. “It’s not like a cake that you just put in the oven while you work on the icing and decorations.”

“Well I’m never making this cake ever again,” Dan said. He shook his tin gently from side to side, to even out the batter and then pushed it back under the grill. “There’s no way it tastes good enough for all this effort to be worth it.”

In the end, it was Phil’s impatience that ruined him. As hard as he tried to concentrate, he started getting distracted. He missed layers, some were too dark, some were too light. He tried to correct it, but the damage was done. There wasn’t enough batter left to even the layers out again and he would probably just make it worse if he tried. As he recounted his layers, he heaved a sigh when he saw that, in addition to the inconsistencies, he also wasn’t going to reach the full twenty layers. He would come close, seventeen maybe, or eighteen, if he was really lucky, but there was no way he could stretch the batter far enough to finish the cake.

Dan was having the same problem. “I think my batter was too thick to begin with,” he said, when Phil hurried over to compare his cake to Dan’s. “The layers are too thick. I’ve only got fifteen layers and there’s only enough batter left to do one more.”

That was...pretty bad actually. “Maybe they won’t count them,” Phil tried.

Dan rolled his eyes. “Phil. We’re being judged by Paul Hollywood. He’s going to count the layers.”

Phil sighed. “Yeah, he’s going to count the layers...but maybe your cake will taste better than the others!”

“Louise is the queen of cakes. I’m not going to hold my breath.” He stared at his cake, as if it held all the answers, and then shook his head roughly and shooed Phil away. “Go back to your station. There are only twenty minutes left. You need to finish your cake and I need to get mine as close to finished as I can.”

Phil really had to scramble to get his cake finished. He had to cut the time spent on his last two layers, so that he would have enough time for it to cool before he glazed it. He hurried through making his apricot jam and smeared it over his cake, but his chocolate glaze was runny and most of it dripped off the cake even with the jam to stick to. At least his vanilla glaze criss-cross decoration looked appealing, but that was the only good Phil could see in the cake at all.

When they all took their cakes up to the judging table, Phil saw that Dan had at least managed a perfect chocolate glaze. Sure, his cake was obviously shorter than the others, but at least it looked nice.

Paul rubbed his hands together when he and Mary entered the tent and got a good look at the cakes. “Interesting,” he said and then indicated Dan’s cake with a jerk of his head. “Shall we start with this one, Mary?”

He cut a wedge out of the cake and knelt to count the layers.

“Are you really going to count all of them?” Mel asked.

Sue heaved a theatrical sigh and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Get comfy, everyone. This is going to take a while.

“Sixteen,” Paul said. “The layers are thick too. They should be very thin.”

They took a bite and Mary nodded. “It has a good flavour, and the glaze is very good, but there aren’t enough layers.”

Louise’s cake was next and Paul was clearly pleased to report that all twenty layers were there and alternated beautifully. Mikayla’s cake only achieved nineteen layers but overall, the judges were pleased with it. Finally, it was time for Phil’s cake to be judged.

“This one has had some problems with the glaze,” Mary said, as Paul counted. “It’s much too runny and most of it has dripped off, which is a shame.”

Paul stood and said, “I count eighteen. The layers are very uneven. Some are thick, some are thin, some are darker, some are lighter. We were really looking for that consistency across the whole cake. It takes patience, but it can be done.”

“It tastes quite good,” Mary said.

Phil would take that. At least it hadn’t been a complete failure.

Paul and Mary whispered between themselves for a surprisingly long time given that there were only four bakes to rank. Eventually, they settled on a decision and turned to face that bakers.

“In fourth place,” Mary began and stepped towards Dan’s cake. “Whose is this?” When Dan raised his hand, she continued, “I’m sure you know why.”

Dan could do nothing but nod. Phil placed third, Mikayla second and Louise first.

Dan and Phil dawdled at the back of the pack as they all returned to the hotel that evening. Dan’s hands were stuffed in his pockets and his eyes were on the path in front of him, but Phil didn’t think he was looking at the ground, it was more like he was looking through it, at something Phil couldn’t see.

It was the sort of situation where Phil felt he had to break the silence; it was eating away at him, especially as he could hear Louise and Mikayla chatting happily away further ahead. But at the same time, the silence felt necessary. As if it was helping them, or Dan at least, come to terms with the results of the day.

Nothing about this weekend was happening as Phil had expected it to. Sure, he’d known it was going to be tough, but Dan was the best baker Phil knew. He was supposed to just sail through to the final without breaking a sweat. Instead, here they both were, at the bottom of the ladder, and it was hard to say at this point which of them was in the better position.

Dan was clearly thinking the same thing, because he let out a long, steady breath and then looked up to meet Phil’s eyes and said, “Unless Mikayla or Louise have a massive disaster tomorrow, one of us is going home.”

Phil shook his head violently. “No, you don’t know–”

“Phil.” He sounded so calm, so assured, so confident. It was the complete opposite to the tsunami Dan’s words had started in Phil’s head.

“I just want us both to get to the final. I want us to do it together.”

“I know.” Dan’s elbow nudged his in one of those subtle gestures of comfort Phil had learned he was good at. “I want that, too. And, look, it might still happen. But I think it’s a good idea to prepare ourselves for the worst. Just in case.”

Dan was right. Of course he was. Dan was like that. Logical. Prepared. Matter-of-fact.

“You want to win,” Phil said.

It must not have been what Dan expected, too honest maybe, because his face twitched and he looked away and shrugged half-heartedly.

“So do you.”

“Not like you, though.”

“Only because I have this need to prove myself to myself. I’m not like you, Phil. You know that you deserve something better and you know that you’ll get it one day. I entered this competition as a dare with myself. I thought, if I can win this, it’s a sign that I won’t have to stay stuck in this life I’ve got. I’ll be good enough to do other things. Better things.”

It made Phil ache to hear Dan talk like that. He didn’t know how a person with so much conviction could think so little of himself.

“You don’t need to win for that,” Phil said. “You’ve made it this far. Whatever happens tomorrow, you’ve already proven yourself. If not to you, then to me.”

Dan’s mouth crooked up in something of a smile. “When you say it like that, it almost seems like enough.”

*** * ***

Breakfast had been quiet that morning. Dan and Phil had sat close together, too close probably, but no one said anything. Louise had watched them with careful eyes and then forced them to eat a proper meal so they wouldn’t faint in front of the cameras from low blood sugar.

Now they were back in the tent and they were filming Mel, Sue, Mary and Paul entering the tent. Phil’s breakfast sat heavy in his stomach but, other than that, he felt surprisingly calm. What would happen, would happen, and he had resigned himself the night before to his elimination.

Because that was the most obvious result today, he knew. Dan would pull through, because his bakes were always amazing, and Phil would be eliminated. But it would be worth it. He just had to make sure he didn’t cry on camera – he didn’t want to be that person – and everything would be fine. He had come further than he ever could have expected and he could walk away with his head held high.

“Bakers,” said Mel, “welcome to your showstopper challenge.”

“This week, we would like you to create a Gateau St Honore. This is a classic French dessert that includes a puff pastry base, choux pastry buns and crème pâtissière. You can make your gateau any flavour you like, but it must include these elements. You have five hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Once Phil got into it, it just felt a lot like any other showstopper challenge. He had expected it to be different, had expected to feel the axe of his own elimination hanging over his head with every move he made. But it was easy to forget about all that when he was focused on bringing his pastry together so he could start rolling it out.

The judges came around to see him just as he was completing the first fold of his pastry.

“Good morning, Phil,” said Mary and smiled up at him gently.

Even as he replied in kind, Phil was plagued by the thought that they might have already made up their minds about who would be going home today, bar any unexpected disasters or miracles. How could they keep their thoughts hidden so well? Phil knew that he would give it away instantly if he were in their position.

“What are you making for us today?” Paul asked and picked up a passionfruit from the bowl sitting near the sink.

“My gateau,” Phil said, “is going to be passionfruit with chocolate ganache and strawberries. It’s really fresh, with a hint of tartness from the passionfruit.”

“Will you be straining out the passionfruit seeds?” Mary asked.

Phil nodded. “Yeah. I don’t want the seeds or any graininess in there when you bite in. It should all be smooth.”

“And you’re doing a rough puff,” Paul said, nodding at Phil’s pastry.

Again, Phil nodded. “Yeah. It seemed a better choice, considering there’s so much to do today.”

“It sounds like you have everything well in hand,” said Mary. “We’ll leave you to get on with it.”

It was always a relief to have the judges’ visit behind him. He didn’t have to stress anymore about their first reactions to his bake and he could just get on with the baking. Sure, they would be wandering around the tent throughout the challenge, watching people, but Phil didn’t even really notice them anymore. He was a far cry from the Phil who used to feel self-conscious baking while his family was watching. They had nothing on the steely gaze of Paul Hollywood.

Across the tent, Dan was explaining his bake to the judges.

“It’s banoffee flavoured,” he said. “Banana and toffee.”

“Do you know,” said Paul, “I don’t think I’ve ever had banana in choux before.”

Dan chuckled. “Neither had I. But I was looking for inspiration for this challenge, and then I remembered how much my mum loves banoffee pie and I thought I might as well try to convert it into a French dessert.”

“As you do,” said Mel.

He laughed again. “It seemed as good an idea as any.”

“Banana can be a tricky flavour,” Mary said. “It’s not very strong.”

“I’ve got some banana essence, to help bring out the flavour, but I’ll only use a drop or two. I don’t want it tasting too artificial.”

“I’m interested to see how it turns out,” Mary said. “Good luck, Dan.”

They walked off to speak to Mikayla and Phil breathed a sigh of relief. So they’d both passed the first hurdle and the judges didn’t seem to have any major concerns about either of their bakes. It really did seem to be a level playing field. Phil wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

With his puff pastry chilling in the fridge, Phil moved onto his choux pastry. He was trying to block out the disaster that his eclairs had been a few weeks ago, because he didn’t need that weighing his mind on top of everything else. He wasn’t pushed for time this week, he knew what he was doing. Dan had even coached him during one of their Skype sessions during the week. Everything was fine. Still, it was mildly comforting to get his pastry and choux buns in the oven. Even if everything else went wrong from here on out, at least he would have something cooked to present to the judges.

As he started separating his eggs for the crème pât, Phil glanced around the tent to see what everyone else was doing. Louise seemed as calm and collected as ever, Dan was singing to himself as he looked for a clean bowl and, at the front of the tent, Mikayla was panicked. The cameras were gathered around her as she explained to Mel that her puff pastry didn’t look right, that it wasn’t the right texture and that she was going to have to make it again from scratch.

Even as he felt sorry for her, a thrill of hope spiked through Phil. Having to remake her pastry was going to put Mikayla seriously behind. She was talented, sure, but if she couldn’t come back from this, she had put herself in the danger zone. The same danger zone that Dan and Phil were currently occupying. He would be sorry to see her eliminated, of course, because he knew how much being here meant to all of them...but if he had to choose between which of the three of them went home, he would choose Mikalya in a heartbeat.

Time moved more quickly as he worked on his crème pât, and then moved onto the passionfruit curd. His pastry and choux buns, when he took them out of the oven, were crisp and golden – maybe the best pastry he’d ever made actually. He put the choux buns back into the oven to dry out and then started on his Chantilly cream.

He and Dan seemed to be neck and neck. They both started filling their choux buns at the same time, and then both got started on their caramel, which Phil was going to dip his choux buns in.

“If I didn’t know any better, Phil Lester, I’d think you were copying me,” Dan teased.

Phil laughed. “But you do know better. You know full well that you are copying me.”

Dan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

Nine weeks ago, this was the kind of exchange that would have set Phil on edge. He would have taken that “Yeah, right” as an indication that Dan didn’t think he was good enough, not even worth copying. Now, he knew better. Dan wasn’t one for copying. He marched to the beat of his own drum. He knew that what he baked was good, so why bother trying to be like everybody else?

Phil had allowed half an hour at the end of the challenge for assembling and decorating. It was unlike him, but he had wanted to be prepared. He had wanted his bake to be perfect. Even now, still convinced that he was going to be eliminated, he wanted to make sure he went out on a high. He wasn’t just throwing in the towel; he didn’t want to be remembered that way.

So he took his time, he was careful, as he poured the chocolate ganache into the centre of the gateau and then spread the passionfruit curd over the top evenly. He piped the Chantilly cream neatly across the curd and filled any gaps between the choux buns, which were sitting in a ring around the edge of the puff pastry. Once all the piping was done, he threw down the bag and started another batch of caramel that he could use to make sugar decorations. He drizzled the caramel into attractive swirly patterns and then stuck them into the cream between the choux buns. He arranged his strawberries in a circle around the edge of the cream, and popped the last one on with a minute to spare.

At the end of the challenge, he felt weary in ways he hadn’t expected. The adrenaline had clearly carried him through, but it had been a long challenge with lots of elements and Phil was tired enough to just curl up there on the floor and sleep for days. But it wasn’t over yet. There was still the judging and the results to get through.

Mikayla was called up first. Somehow, she had managed to save herself and produce a full Gateau St Honore despite her failed pastry, though the judges mentioned that her finish looked rushed and she could have done more with her decorations. Louise went next and received good comments on her raspberry ripple gateau.

Then it was Dan’s turn. Maybe Phil was biased, but Dan’s gateau looked the best of them all. The tall, jagged caramel shards sticking out of the cream added a sense of drama and flair, but the dusting of chocolate shaving on top also made it feel homey and welcoming. The judges agreed.

“It looks stunning,” said Mary. “Really very attractive. The caramel is a lovely colour.”

“It’s very professional,” said Paul. “You’ve always got a really good eye for the visual element. But let’s see if it tastes as good as it looks.”

He stuck his knife into the centre and then sliced down, through the pastry, which crunched and crackled perfectly. They sampled the pastry with the filling, and then the choux buns, and then they were silent for a long time. Phil noticed that his fingers were tapping non-stop on his bench top and sat on his hands to make them stop.

Mary put her fork down onto the plate. “The pastry is perfect but the whole bake tastes overwhelmingly of banana.”

“Artificial banana,” Paul said. “How much essence did you use?”

Dan’s shoulders slumped. “Only a couple of drops. Maybe they were too generous.”

“It’s the only thing coming through,” said Mary. “I would have liked more of a toffee flavour coming through in the cream, to break it up.”

“It’s a shame,” said Paul, “given how nice it looks.”

Dan’s face was flat and emotionless when he returned to his bench, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in a half-hearted smile when Phil was called up to present his bake.

“It’s lovely that you’ve used fresh strawberries on top,” said Mary. “Your sugar work is good, too.”

“The pastry is quite good,” said Paul, when he’d cut into it. “You’ve achieved a good lamination, lots of layers, and the bake is good.”

They tasted the elements and Phil’s fingers twisted around each other. All he wanted was for it not to be a complete flop, even if it wasn’t enough to save him.

“It’s really tasty,” Mary said, with a wide smile. “The freshness of the strawberries with the tart passionfruit and the sweet chocolate is perfect. They work together really well.”

“The passionfruit curd could have been thicker,” said Paul, “and the choux buns a bit bigger maybe, but all in all, you’ve done a really good job. Thank you, Phil.”

Phil was stunned as he walked back to his bench. But he’d done what he set out to do. He’d still performed really badly the day before, he was still in danger of being eliminated, but at least his last bake had been a good one. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

He said as much to Dan when they were all lined up, waiting for Mary and Paul to return with the results.

“We put up a good fight,” Phil said. “No matter what happens, at least we achieved that.”

“You think they’re still considering you?”

Phil nodded. “Don’t you remember how poor my bakes were yesterday? A good showstopper can make up for a lot, but at this stage of the competition, if you’re not putting up a perfect signature and a strong technical, you’re on the chopping block. Mikayla wasn’t great today, but her bakes yesterday were as close to perfect as you can come. So yeah, it’s between you and me, and I already know who they’re going to choose.”

Dan frowned, trying to piece together what Phil meant, and then his face cleared. “You really think they’re going to send you home?”

“Of course. You deserve to be in the final, Dan. Just look at some of the bakes you’ve created over the whole competition. I’m a home baker, maybe a better than average one, but still a home baker. You have the potential to be a professional. They’ll want to see you pull out all the stops in the final, I know it.”

Dan didn’t look convinced but there was no more time to talk about it because Mary, Paul, Mel and Sue entered the tent and took their places before the bakers.

“I have the good job this week of announcing star baker,” said Sue. “This week’s star baker impressed Mary and Paul with professional petit four, actually made a twenty layer cake and produced a Gateau St Honore that Paul himself said wouldn’t be out of place in a French patisserie. Louise, congratulations, you are our star baker.”

Phil clapped hard and grinned when she hid her face in her hands. Louise hadn’t won star baker since they’d baked cakes back in Week One, but she’d been strong and consistent throughout most of the competition. She truly deserved her place in the final.

When the clapping died down, Phil’s stomach flipped. He forced himself to breathe steadily and face the judges.

Mel looked solemn. “As you all know, we can’t take you all into the final with us. This week, saying goodbye is particularly hard.”

He couldn’t do it. As much as he wanted to look them in the eye when he met his fate, Phil’s eyes slipped closed. He noticed that he was trembling and that his fists were clenched in his lap.

“This week,” Mel continued, “the baker we have to say goodbye to is…”

He almost jumped when he felt Dan’s hand enclose one of his own. It was surprisingly cool, a relief on Phil’s overly warm skin. He wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t going to cry, he wasn’t going to–

“Dan. I’m so sorry.”

Phil’s eyes popped open, his heart stopped, he could feel the mist gathering behind his eyes.

Dan was nodding. He squeezed Phil’s hand hard and then stood up to hug Mel and Sue.

Beside Phil, Louise reached out and hugged him to her but he felt it as if from a distance. He was frozen until his body forced in a ragged breath. He swallowed hard and forced himself to stand up, shake hands with Paul, hug Mel and Sue, do everything he was supposed to do, and then, as soon as the cameras had stopped rolling, he left the tent.

*** * ***

The room was quiet and dark. Phil had heard people moving around in the hall outside, but that must have been hours ago. The natural light coming through the windows was slipping away but Phil was curled up on the bed and couldn’t bring himself to stand and turn on the lights.

He knew he would have to get up sooner or later. He needed to pack, and soon one of the hotel staff would come knocking and kick him out. But Phil’s limbs were heavy, and his eyes were grainy, and a headache was starting to build in his temples.

There was a gentle tapping on the door. So the staff were eager for him to be gone. Fair enough. But he wasn’t ready to move just yet. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he stayed very quiet and still, they would assume he wasn’t in and go away.

The tapping came again, more insistent this time, and accompanied by a voice.

“Phil? Phil, I know you’re in there. Open the door.”

Dan.

He rolled off the bed and stumbled to the door, fumbled with the lock and then managed to yank the door open.

Dan had scrubbed the make up off his face, so he looked fresh and clean. There was a red tinge to his eyes but Phil couldn’t tell if that meant he’d been crying or just that he’d got soap in his eyes again.

“Are you okay?” Dan asked and Phil wanted to cry all over again.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” His voice sounded choked.

Dan shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’re clearly taking this harder than I am.”

Phil shook his head and turned away, leaving Dan to enter and close the door behind him. He climbed back on the bed and buried his face in the pillow. “Don’t joke, Dan.”

“Who’s joking?” The bed dipped under Dan’s weight. Phil could feel the heat of him through his jeans.

“This is all my fault.”

Dan laughed; it was startling, given the situation. “Why? Because you baked well today? That’s not your fault. This is a competition. That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“It was supposed to be me they sent home.”

“Because I deserve this opportunity more than you? Stop. You’re too smart to be this stupid.”

Phil rolled over and pushed himself upright. He had to be able to see Dan’s face for this.

“Are you going to sit there and tell me that you didn’t want to win?”

Dan shook his head. “Of course I wanted to win. And yeah, I’m disappointed that I got eliminated today. But none of that is on you, Phil. I don’t blame you. Hell, I’m proud of you. Your gateau was the best of the day. If you’d done well yesterday, I bet you would have won star baker too.”

Phil buried his chin in his knees. “We should have been doing this together. What’s the tent going to be like next week if you’re not there?”

“Quieter, probably.”

A small laugh escaped him and then he sniffed. Dan sighed and reached out to grab his arm.

“You have what it takes to win, Phil. I know you don’t believe it, but I do. You’re a good baker. You’re better than me. You love it. You care. And besides, you’re not really doing it without me. Don’t think that I’m not going to be on Skype with you 24/7 this week, just because I won’t have my own bakes to practise. It’ll actually be better for me. I can kick back, relax, and order you around the kitchen.”

“You should come up to my house this week.” Phil wasn’t sure where the offer came from, but it surprised him as much as it surprised Dan.

“Really?”

Phil nodded and pulled his head up to look Dan straight in the eyes. “Yeah. It’ll be fun. And you said you would anyway. You can help me prepare in person. I know it’s a long journey, but we have a guest room you can stay in for a night or two. Or as long as you like.”

“Won’t your mum mind?”

Phil shook his head and resolved to call her on the way home, to make it official. “No. I’ve told her all about you. She’d love to meet you.”

Dan’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve told her about me, huh? Like, what have you said?”

Phil blushed and his gaze skipped away. “Just that you’re a good baker, and you’re my friend.”

Dan smirked and didn’t really look like he believed him. Eventually he nodded slowly. “Sure. Okay. It’ll be fun.”

So Phil had gone from having Dan with him in the tent to having him in his kitchen, in his house. Dan would be in his bedroom, on his sofa, eating dinner with his family. As much as he wished Dan was still in the competition, that didn’t seem like such a bad trade off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dan’s signature: [ Chocolate and coffee baklava](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/coffee_and_chocolate_14427) (Nancy’s recipe, Season 5); [ Mini Sachertorte](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/sachertorte_59630) (Mary’s recipe)  
> Technical: [ Schichttorte](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/_schichttorte_49934) (Paul’s recipe)   
> Phil’s showstopper: [ Gâteau Saint Honoré à la passion](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/gteau_saint_honor_a_la_52768) (John’s recipe, Season 3)


	10. Week Ten - The Final

Nothing about being in the tent that last week felt right. As they waited for filming to start, Phil kept looking around to speak to Dan, or see what he was doing, only for his stomach to sink a little when he remembered that Dan wasn’t there. Because Dan had been eliminated. Everything they had both been hoping for was now resting solely on Phil’s skinny shoulders.

He was stationed at the front of the tent that week; Louise was behind him, in a mirror of the very first week they’d baked together, and Mikayla was alone on the other side of the tent.

“Feeling okay, Phil?” Louise asked and he turned to shoot her a half-hearted smile. He knew full well that she was asking because Dan wasn’t around to.

“Yeah. I just want to get started, you know? All this waiting is making me anxious.”

She laughed. “You never were the most patient of people. But you know, once we start, it’ll be over before you know it.”

She was right, of course. Time moved strangely in the tent. Hours could slip away in just moments.

“Bakers,” said Sue, when the judges had entered the tent, “welcome to the final of the Great British Bake Off.”

“You’ve baked your way through cakes, biscuits, pies, tarts, pastry, meringue, and who knows what else to be here, with just three challenges standing between one of you and the title of Britain’s best amateur baker.”

“For your signature challenge today, we would like you, please, to make a picnic pie. It can be filled with anything you like but it must have a lid and be completely closed, and we would like you to bake it in a loaf tin. You have three and a half hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Phil shook his head and grabbed a bowl to begin his pastry. “A picnic pie” they were calling it, but it was just a pie, even if they did want it to be a particular shape. Of course, for the final of the Great British Bake Off it couldn’t be just any pie, it had to be impressive. Dan had said as much when they had been clustered around his kitchen bench trying to figure out a recipe.

Dan had been a guest in his house for the better part of the last week. Thankfully, Phil’s mum had been amused and more than happy to have him around, especially when Dan had produced a stunning lemon meringue pie as a thank you on his last night in the house.

Baking with Dan in his own kitchen had been nothing like baking with him in the tent. For a start, they were actually baking together, or as much as they could when Dan wasn’t supervising and timing the different elements of his bakes to make sure he could do it in the time allowed.

They laughed and talked constantly, and only sometimes about baking. Having Dan around all the time was like discovering something that he hadn’t realised he had lost. It felt like Dan had just always been there. Or maybe like he was always meant to be there. After being raised by such a superstitious mother, it was easy to believe in fate.

By the time Mary, Paul and Sue arrived at Phil’s bench to check on him, he was just wrapping up his pastry in cling film so it could chill.

“Good morning, Phil,” said Sue and looked around at the ingredients on his bench. “You sure do have a lot of vegetables for someone who once said he wasn’t interested in vegetarian foods.”

Phil laughed and something in him settled. Even though everything else about that week was strange and off-centre, Sue was her regular self and that was more comforting than he could have anticipated.

“Yeah,” he said. “Dan got me onto it actually. He convinced me to try a couple of vegetarian dishes and I didn’t mind them as much as I thought I would. So I decided to be brave and push myself out of my comfort zone for my final bakes.”

There was a little smile playing around Mary’s mouth but she just said, “So you’re making a vegetarian pie?”

Phil nodded. “It’s filled with aubergine, courgette, peppers, onions and sun-dried tomatoes. They’re all in layers so when you cut into it, it’s really colourful and vibrant.”

“There are some watery vegetables in that list,” said Paul. “Are you worried about the pastry getting soggy?”

Phil hefted a bag of couscous in his hand. “I’m using this as a bottom layer. I’ve found that it soaks up any extra moisture really well.”

Paul nodded, one of those approving nods that Phil had seen him give Dan so often. “And do you know how you’re decorating the pie?”

“It’s going to be a picnic basket.”

Sue frowned. “So it’s a picnic basket picnic pie?”

“Yep. I’m doing a latticework lid and I’m making little buckles and handles to stick on the sides.”

“How will you be sticking them on?” Paul asked.

“Caramel. Just a little bit is enough and it doesn’t affect the taste of the pie.”

“It sounds like it will be very impressive when it’s baked,” Mary said. “I’m looking forward to tasting it.”

So he was feeling surprisingly calm when they all moved off to talk to Louise about her chicken and sausage pie. Of course, there was still plenty of time for unbridled panic, but the fact that it hadn’t hit yet meant he was off to a good start. He just needed to keep it together and focus on baking a good pie. At the start of the competition that would have filled him with dread but not anymore. He was a seasoned Bake Off competitor at this point – he could do this.

He moved on to chopping his vegetables; the pieces needed to be chunky to prevent the filling being a mushy mixture, but not so chunky that they couldn’t be placed flat and ruin the layered effect he was going for. Once he had them sized to his liking, he coated them in sunflower oil and put them in the oven to roast. 

Throughout the challenge, he was only vaguely aware of Louise and Mikayla’s presence in the tent. If he focused on them, he knew that they were hurrying around, but then they faded back into the background. It was a startling comparison to how he’d been so fully aware of everything Dan had been doing in the tent when he was there. It was as if the whole rest of the competition had just rushed past in a blur of Dan, Dan, Dan.

The challenge felt long in ways that many of the previous signature challenges hadn’t. He wasn’t sure if it was because the vegetables took so long to roast or because he had to keep getting his pastry out of the fridge and then putting it back in again, but by the time Phil was putting his lattice lid on his pie and popping the whole thing in the oven, he was ready for the whole challenge to be over. And there was still an hour to go.

“I’m never making a pie again,” he said to Louise, dramatically flinging himself across the end of her bench.

“Not even for Dan?”

“Shut up.”

She chuckled, a sound too evil for someone who looked so sweet. “I heard he spent most of the week at your house.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“He told me. I asked him around for dinner but he turned me down because he was going to be ‘in the North’.”

“Oh.” Phil’s face was warm. He wasn’t sure why; after all, Louise had figured out what was going on a long time before Phil had.

“Yeah, oh. So...are you two an item now?”

“‘An item’? Who says that?”

“I do. Stop avoiding the question.”

He shrugged and watched as she brushed her pie with egg wash. “We haven’t really talked about it. Like, at all. I don’t even know if he likes me.”

She looked at him as if he’d said the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. “Are you serious? Of course he likes you. First of all, you’re adorable. Second of all, have you not seen the way he looks at you? Like you’re the sunshine of his life or something. His face goes all soft and his mouth quirks up and his eyes go all big.”

He bit down on his lip and muffled a laugh. “Wow, Louise. I didn’t realise you’d spent so much time watching us. That’s kind of creepy, you know?”

She shrugged. “I can’t help it. I’m too invested.”

He returned to his bench to start working on the decorations for his pie – the buckles, hinges and handles – but couldn’t get Louise’s words out of his head. After hanging out with Dan all week, he wasn’t as worried about losing touch with him as he’d been a few weeks ago. It already felt like the most natural thing in the world, to pick up the phone and text him, even when he’d only left for home an hour before. But there was no guarantee things would develop from there. And Phil wasn’t even sure if he wanted them to. He’d never had a friend like Dan before; he wasn’t sure he wanted to run the risk of losing him just because of some silly romantic flutterings.

He pulled his pie out of the oven with fifteen minutes to spare. Perfect timing. There was just enough time for it to cool before he had to attach the decorations.

It was probably the best looking pie he’d ever made, he thought later, as he waited for the cameras to be set up for judging. It was a nice golden-brown colour, the edges were straight and smooth, there was no soggy bottom, and it was finished well. Now he just had to hope that he’d achieved what he’d hoped for with the filling and that Mary and Paul liked the taste.

“It looks exactly like a picnic basket!” Mary exclaimed when they stopped at his bench. “It’s very sweet. You’ve really gone the extra mile by making the buckles and handles.”

Paul cut a slice out of the middle; the pastry had flaked away but still held it’s shape, and the filling was perfectly layered.

“That’s a great looking pie,” Paul said. “The colours on the inside are so inviting.”

They each took a bite and Mary nodded appreciatively. “It tastes excellent. I love the kick of the sun-dried tomato and you don’t miss the meat at all because the courgette and aubergine give it some bite. It might have done well with some cheese but it’s still very delicious.”

“The pastry is excellent,” Paul said. “It was a smart move, using the couscous. Well done, Phil.”

Phil grinned. “Thank you.”

It was a better start than he could have hoped for. Neither Mary nor Paul had said it was perfect, but they’d liked it all the same and they hadn’t been bothered by the lack of meat. So he was off on the right foot, especially when it turned out that Louise had done no better than him and that Mikayla had undercooked her pastry. It put him in a strong position for the rest of the weekend, so long as he didn’t screw up too badly in the next two challenges.

So he was feeling confident when they returned from lunch to get started on the technical. The last technical of the competition; Phil sure wasn’t going to miss these when the competition was over.

“One challenge down, two to go,” said Mel. “For your last technical challenge, we would like you to use one of Paul’s recipes to make pretzels.”

Pretzels? Phil’s stomach sank. He didn’t eat pretzels and he certainly didn’t bake them. They were more a Dan-bake than a Phil-bake.

“You need to make twelve pretzels in total, six traditional savoury pretzels and six sweet pretzels flavoured with orange and poppy seed. You have two and a half hours. On your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

What was a pretzel really? Just some twisted up dough, that’s what Dan would say. Nothing to be afraid of. Still, after the success of the morning it was disheartening to feel so out of his depth. After looking at the recipe, he felt even worse. There was basically nothing there at all. “Make the dough,” it said. “Shape the pretzels. Boil the pretzels. Bake the pretzels.” They might as well have saved the paper and not printed the recipes at all, for all the good they were going to do.

At least the dough came together well. Something in his gut told him that he wanted a stiff dough, not a sticky one, so he kept kneading until it was a smooth ball. Then he divided the dough in two, mixed his orange zest and poppy seeds into one half, and set them both aside to prove. He wasn’t sure how long the dough would need to rest for, and of course the recipe didn’t say, but Dan had told him weeks ago, just in passing, that a dough with filling required a longer proving time. Something about the dough needing to fight the filling to grow, Phil thought; he couldn’t remember the exact reason, but he could see Dan’s face on the computer screen and hear his voice echoing around the kitchen as they practised a bake together.

A long prove then, so Phil made a note to preheat his oven and settled in to wait. He could use the time to practise his pretzel-shaping technique with a spare bit of dough. Louise and Mikayla had had the same idea but at least they seemed to be making progress. After his fifth unsuccessful attempt, Phil wasn’t holding out much hope for himself.

“How are you doing, Phil?” Mel asked as she wandered over to his bench to check up on him.

“Terrible,” he said and Mel rubbed his shoulder gently. “I can’t remember what pretzels look like and I don’t know how to twist them and they’re going to be awful.”

Mel’s lips pursed. “Now, Phil. We don’t want any of that defeatist talk around here. You’ve got plenty of time to practise, right? You’ll figure it out.”

“Dan would know how to do it.” He instantly regretted sounding so bitter; they were well past that.

“Maybe he would,” Mel said gently. “But Dan isn’t here. You are. And there’s no reason you can’t figure it out.”

She was right, of course. And it was the sort of thing Dan himself would have said. Phil could almost hear him over his shoulder, telling him to just get on with it. Even if he couldn’t twist the dough exactly as Paul wanted it, he could loop it to look vaguely pretzel shaped. That would have to be enough.

About forty-five minutes later, Phil’s dough had doubled in size. Given that that seemed to be the general rule for proving anything, he was happy, and started dividing each half into six even balls – he even used a scale to weigh everything because if there was ever a time to be precise, it was the Great British Bake Off final.

He muddled his way through the twisting and then it was time to boil the pretzels. He hovered over his pot of bicarb soda water and glanced around the tent to see Louise and Mikayla stalling in a similar manner.

“One of us has to break,” he said.

“Not it!” Louise said and urged him on with her eyes.

He sighed. “Fine. I’ll go first.”

The problem was that the recipe didn’t say how long to boil the pretzels for. Were you supposed to boil both sides? How could you tell when they were ready? Did it matter if he got it wrong? That was the only question he could answer – undoubtedly, yes, it would matter if he got it wrong. But at this point there was no way to tell how or why so he was just going to have to bite the bullet.

He gently lowered a couple of his pretzels into the pot and watched the water bubble around them. He thought the point of boiling the pretzels was to form a skin on them before they baked so he figured a couple of minutes should do the trick. His pretzels were a bit small and dumpy, especially compared to Louise’s, so he didn’t want to go longer than that. When he’d got them all out of the water, he sprinkled salt and sesame seeds over the savoury pretzels and put them in the oven to bake. They were small, so they probably wouldn’t need more than half an hour – which was lucky, because that was about how much time there was left in the challenge.

While the pretzels baked, he prepared the orange syrup which would glaze his sweet pretzels. He pulled out the pretzels with five minutes to spare and chewed on his lip. They might be a bit dark but there was nothing to be done about it now. He fumbled them onto a wire cooling rack and brushed the orange syrup over the sweet ones, so that the candied zest he sprinkled over them would have something to stick to.

They were still a bit hot but he managed to get them into the basket for presenting just as Mel told them to step away from their bakes.

Phil backed away from his bench and wiped a hand over his forehead. He grimaced at the syrup residue he smeared all over his face and grabbed a tea towel to try and wipe it off.

Seeing just three sets of bakes lined up in front of Mary and Paul was surreal and he was struck by how far he had actually come since that first week, when he’d lined up, trembling, with eleven other bakers for judging. As in that first week, he was the last to be judged.

“These have got a good colour on them,” Paul said, coming to Louise’s pretzels first. “They haven’t been left in the water too long either. You only need to boil them for a couple of seconds.”

A couple of seconds? Phil wanted to drop his face into his hands but managed to refrain. Even at a couple of minutes, he’d left his pretzels in way too long.

“They’re a good size,” Mary said and tore one of the savoury pretzels in half to look inside. “A good texture, too.”

After tasting, Mary and Paul both agreed that Louise’s pretzels were just about perfect and moved on to Mikayla’s pretzels, which were under-proved but well-baked.

Then it was Phil’s turn.

“The shape isn’t quite right,” Mary said to Paul, who shook his head.

“They’ve been boiled too long as well,” said Paul, “and overbaked. They’re much too dark.”

“The syrup is very good,” said Mary, after they’d tasted Phil’s pretzels, “and there’s a good distribution of orange zest and poppy seeds in the sweet pretzels. The filling was well-combined.”

“They’ve had a good prove, too,” said Paul. “Shame about the overbaking.”

Phil couldn’t say he was surprised when he placed last but it didn’t mean that it didn’t sting. He’d had a great morning and then gone and shot himself in the foot with an awful technical.

“It’s not over yet, Phil,” Louise said, on their way back to the hotel.

But that was easy for her to say; her pretzels had put her in the lead. Phil shook his head as he let himself into his room. That was unkind. He was very happy for Louise, and he would be very happy for her if she won. She had worked so hard; she deserved to win. But now that he was here, in the final, he wanted it. For the first time in the whole competition, he wanted to win more than anything. And he didn’t want to win for Dan, or so that his parents would be proud, or to stick it to Martyn; he wanted to win for himself. Because he never won anything. He was never picked first for sports teams, he was never anyone’s favourite person, he never made employee of the month. If Louise deserved this, he deserved it just as much.

Which was why the technical was eating away at him. He had come so far, and he was going to lose it all because of some stupid pretzels.

The phone was in his hand and he was dialing before he even realised he’d picked it up. It only rang once before Dan answered.

“Phil?” Hearing his voice eased the tightness in Phil’s chest. “How’s it going? Is the technical already over?”

He shuddered a sigh down the phone. “I’m not going to win.”

Dan was quiet for a long time, so long that Phil worried that the connection had cut out. But then he heard a rustling on the other end of the line and he flopped back on the bed to stare up at the mottled ceiling.

“Why do you think that?” Dan eventually asked.

“I came last in the technical. It was a disaster, from start to finish.”

Dan sighed. “I’m sure it wasn’t. You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I came last, Dan. In the final. There’s no coming back from this.”

“You still have the showstopper–”

“We’re making cakes. You think I can beat Louise at that? She’s the queen of cakes. You said it yourself. She’s going to pull out all the stops to win.”

“So pull out bigger stops! You’re making this sound like you’re going in with nothing but you’re not so bad at cakes yourself, remember. You’re creative. You’re one of those stupid people who can take just about any random ingredients and turn them into something delicious. I’ve seen your showstopper. You practised it on Wednesday morning. It’s great. It’s a winner.”

Phil shook his head. “I’m not so sure. It doesn’t feel like enough. I feel like...I dunno. Like it’s missing something.”

“You’re just nervous and second-guessing yourself. But I believe in you and your family believes in you, and we know that you can win. And, look, even if you don’t, would that really be so bad? Winning isn’t going to change anything. It’s not going to make you more than you are right now. So just forget about it. Go into the showstopper and have fun and bake an amazing cake. And I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done.”

Dan hung up soon after that – it was one of the shortest conversations they’d ever had – because he claimed that Phil needed to eat and get a good night’s sleep so he could be prepared for the last challenge. But Phil didn’t eat or sleep after the phone had gone silent. He continued to lie there, staring up at the ceiling as the room grew darker, his mind ticking over and over until finally he pushed himself up. The blood rushed to his head and he clutched the bed to ride out the dizziness but then hurried across the room to his bag as soon as it had passed.

He tossed clothes all over the floor until he found the folded up scrap of paper tucked into one of the side pockets. He scanned over it until he found the phone number for one of the producers and then keyed it into his phone. It felt like an eternity before she picked up.

“Hi! It’s Phil,” he said in a rush and grabbed the notepad and pen sitting on the table. “I need you to organise new ingredients for my showstopper tomorrow. I’m changing my recipe.”

*** * ***

Louise was clicking her nails on the bench and Mikayla was rocking up and down on her toes. Phil felt strangely calm. He was going to savour this experience because he was a finalist in the Great British Bake Off. No one had expected him to make it this far, him least of all, but he had and he was probably never going to be in a position like this ever again. So he was ready; all he wanted to do at that moment was bake.

“Bakers,” said Sue, “it’s all come down to this: your last ever showstopper challenge.”

“For this challenge, Mary and Paul want you to bake like you’ve never baked before. They would like you, please, to create a cake of at least two tiers. It can be any flavour you want but it must be based on something or someone that inspires you. You have five hours to complete this challenge. We wish you the very best of luck. For the final time, on your marks…”

“Get set…”

“Bake!”

Phil smoothed out the recipe he’d written on the hotel notepad the night before and reached for his carton of eggs – he needed to separate out nine egg whites to begin this bake. As he gently dropped the first yolk from one shell cup to the other, he cast an eye over the ingredients someone on the production team had laid out for him. He pitied whoever had been sent out at the eleventh hour to source all new ingredients for him but he couldn’t regret his choice. This cake was going to be something special; he could feel it in his bones.

He started his egg whites in the electric mixer and then moved on to combining all the other ingredients for his first cake. When Mary, Paul and Sue arrived, he was folding his stiffened egg whites into the cake mixture.

“How are you feeling this morning, Phil?” Sue asked.

“I’m feeling good, actually. I think this is going to be a good bake.”

“What are you making today?” Mary asked. “And what is it inspired by?”

“Today I’m making a black and white, heaven and hell cake. It’s, well, it’s sort of inspired by a...a good friend of mine.” His mouth snapped shut, even though he knew everyone was waiting for more. The producers would want some sweet story that would move the audience but he found that he couldn’t say any of those things, even though the words were right there, on the tip of his tongue.

Sue must have understood because she smirked and pressed on. “So what’s in this heaven and hell cake then?”

“It’s got two layers. The bottom layer is the hell layer, it’s dark chocolate and orange, and it’s going to have a chocolate ganache and cherry jam filling, a chocolate mirror glaze and chocolate shards around the outside. The top layer is the heaven layer. That’s going to be lemon and coconut, with meringue clouds and lemon curd filling.”

“That sounds delicious!” Mary said.

“How many times did you practise this bake?” Paul asked and, at first, Phil blanched.

But then he straightened his shoulders, looked Paul dead in the eye and said, “I haven’t practised it.”

Paul’s eyes widened comically and Sue’s mouth dropped open.

“You haven’t practised it?” Paul repeated. “Not once?”

Phil shook his head. “Nope. I was actually going to make a completely different cake but I was thinking about it last night and I realised that cake didn’t feel right. So I changed my recipe. I’ve never made this cake before, ever.”

He was surrounded by a stunned silence.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone come into the Bake Off final without having practised their showstopper,” said Mary.

“You’re either very brave or very stupid,” said Sue. “Or a genius.”

Phil shrugged. “I guess we’ll see.”

“I guess we will,” Paul said, and there was something in his tone that Phil couldn’t quite place. It was either displeasure or a very reluctant admiration, but they all left to speak to Mikayla before Phil could decide.

“Did you really change your recipe last night?” Louise asked from behind him when they had gone.

“Yep.”

“But how do you know if it will work?”

He shrugged. “If it does, let’s put it down to instinct.”

Everyone in the tent, from the judges to the lowly production assistants thought he was crazy. It didn’t bother him. They had put him through to the final because he could bake...so that was what he was going to do.

He slotted his hell cake into the oven and then moved immediately on to the heaven cakes. He needed to make sixteen, thin individual cakes. Then, he would stack them all together in groups of four to make his second layer.

With his heaven cakes in the oven, he started on the filling for his hell cake. He had his cherries reducing so he could make the jam and his chocolate and cream heating up for the ganache. In between all that, he removed his heaven cakes from the oven, trimmed the edges so they were all the same size and checked on his hell cake. He poked a skewer into the centre to see how wet the middle still was and estimated that it needed another five minutes.

Behind him, Louise’s hair was escaping it’s ponytail. She was red-cheeked and tossed him a harried smile as she hurried past on her way to the freezer, muttering something about her strawberry mousse. Phil couldn’t wait to see what Louise’s cake looked like when it was done; Louise had explained that it was inspired by her daughter and all her favourite things, so Phil knew that Louise was going to make it the best cake she’d ever baked.

Having all the cakes out on the bench was a major relief but he had to wait until they were cool enough before he could cut the hell cake in half. While he waited, he made his chocolate mirror glaze and then the meringue. When he’d set them aside to cool, he wiped a knife on a clean tea towel and began to gently saw his hell cake horizontally in half. He took his time and went carefully around the edge before cutting into the middle. When he set the knife down, he had two even discs of cake, which he wrapped in cling film and placed in the freezer to firm up.

If felt like time started racing at that point, maybe because he could hear the crowd of people gathering somewhere outside. His parents and Martyn were out there, sitting in the sunshine. And Dan. Dan was somewhere close by and Phil would get to see him soon. If felt like it had been an eternity since he had seen him last, even though it was really only a couple of days. But it was fine. He took a deep breath and reminded himself to stay calm. He would see Dan later; he needed to give all his concentration to the cake first.

There was an hour to go and the panic was rising up in him. His throat was getting tight and his palms were getting sweaty. There was still so much left to do and now it looked like there was a very real chance that he wasn’t going to finish. It might kill him to present an unfinished cake, especially after admitting to Mary and Paul that he hadn’t practised it before. They might admire his daring but not as much as they disapproved of his lack of preparation.

“Stay calm, Phil,” he whispered to himself. Mikayla was already having one crisis on the other side of the tent; Mel and Sue didn’t need someone else to look after.

His heaven cakes were filled with lemon curd and covered with meringue and coconut. They had been stacked up and set aside, and his filled hell cake was back in the freezer to set the chocolate ganache spread around the outside. He had just finished tempering his chocolate when Mel called out that there was only half an hour left to go.

This was it. Crunch time. Either he would make it or he wouldn’t, but he wasn’t going down without a fight.

He coated his hell cake in another layer of ganache and then he chanced another bout in the freezer to make sure it was set before he poured the mirror glaze over the top. It dripped down the sides and shone under the lights and Phil felt a smile spreading across his face.

Ten minutes to go. He forced himself to take his time as he maneuvered his heaven cake stacks over to sit on top of the hell cake. He clustered them to one side and piped extra meringue around them to fill the gaps. Once he thought it looked sufficiently cloud-like, he took a blowtorch to it and toasted the outside.

Five minutes to go. The tempered chocolate was smooth and glossy, and it had managed to completely cool since he’d worked with it. He snapped it into irregular shards and placed them around the outside of the hell cake, overlapping them slightly so they formed a jagged edge.

One minute to go. His blood was rushing in his ears; he thought he might throw up. As delicately and hastily as he could, he pressed some gold leaf onto the heaven meringue clouds to decorate and dropped his brush just as Sue called time.

The tent looked liked a bomb had hit it. There were ingredients and utensils strewn across every surface. Phil collapsed into a heap on the floor, Mikayla looked stunned and Louise dropped her face into her hands. She might have been crying but Phil couldn’t tell and he was too exhausted to get up and check on her.

It was hard to believe that it was over. Sure, there was still the judging and the results to get through, but they were secured now, no matter what happened. They had each done all they could; the rest was up to Mary and Paul.

Mikayla was called up first. She was visibly shaking as she set her cake in front of the judges and then backed away. Her cake was beautiful, there was no denying that. It had been inspired by Mikayla’s mum, whose favourite season was autumn, so it featured lovely gold and brown colours in an ombre effect. Tree silhouettes were painted on the outside and small, sculpted sugar apples sat on top. She had flavoured it with apples and cinnamon. Unfortunately, the judges agreed that the cake was too dry and the cinnamon too heavy-handed.

Louise went next. Her three-tiered cake was truly magnificent. It was done up in various shades of pink and there was glitter sparkling on every surface. She had cut out fondant letters to spell her daughter’s name, and painted on love hearts, stars and various cute animals. Fresh strawberries and white chocolate shards were arranged on the top. If Mary and Paul had been uninspired by Mikayla’s cake, they were certainly impressed by Louise’s. Her vanilla sponge was light and airy, and the strawberry mousse smooth and creamy. As if Phil had had any doubt, Louise was firmly the one to beat.

Looking at his cake as he walked it up to the judges, Phil wasn’t sure his could hold up in comparison to that.

“Heaven and hell,” Paul said. “I can see it.”

“You’ve achieved a beautiful finish,” Mary said. “The glaze is so shiny I can just about see my face in it. I love the way you’ve used the meringue and the gold leaf to create the clouds.”

“I almost think you could have put something on top of the hell cake,” Paul said as he cut a slice out of it. “It looks a bit plain with just the flat top, but the chocolate around the outside is tempered really well.”

They each took a bite of the chocolate cake and Phil couldn’t help holding his breath. It was the longest five seconds of Phil’s life until Mary smiled and said, “I love that. It’s baked perfectly. The ganache is as good as I’ve ever tasted.”

“The combination of the rich dark chocolate, the hint of tart orange and the sweet cherry jam works really well.”

They tried the heaven cakes next.

“The meringue is excellent,” said Paul, “and I love the lemon curd surprise in the centre. Overall, it’s a really well-put together cake.”

“Even though he didn’t practise it?” Sue asked and Phil chuckled.

But Paul nodded. “Even though you didn’t practise it. You have good instincts, Phil. I think this cake has well and truly proved it.”

And that was that. The judges left to deliberate and the producers lined the bakers up so that they could take their cakes out to the swarming mass of family and friends outside.

When Phil stepped out of the tent, the sun was so bright he almost dropped his cake trying to shield his eyes from it. But it was warm on his face and hearing the cheers and claps of the crowd made him cheeks ache from smiling. And, somehow, he managed to locate his family clustered around a picnic table and make his way over without stumbling. It was only when he got closer that he realised that Dan’s family was seated in amongst his own, and that Dan himself was seated on the edge of the bench nearest to him.

Phil lowered his cake onto the table and vaguely heard his family exclaim over it but he was too distracted by Dan to pay much attention to anything they were saying.

Dan had stood as Phil arrived at the table and then looked the cake over carefully in silence. Phil was worried he might chew a hole through his lip if Dan didn’t say something soon. Thankfully, Dan raised his head and arched an eyebrow.

“You made me a cake,” Dan said, and it wasn’t even a question, because of course Dan would take one look at it and figure out the whole thing.

Phil shrugged. “Yeah. Do you like it?”

Dan’s eyes looked suspiciously misty. “Yes, I like it, you dork. That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

They had subconsciously wandered a few feet away from their families, to give them room to surround Phil’s cake and take a slice each. No one was paying Dan and Phil any attention. Well, that probably wasn’t strictly true. Someone, somewhere, was watching them, but Phil didn’t care. Dan was there and the competition was over and, really, he might not win. But maybe that was okay, because maybe this whole experience was never supposed to be about winning for Phil. Maybe it was just supposed to bring Dan into his life. Dan, who was fireworks and a pounding heart and a soothing voice and, yes, heaven and hell all wrapped up into one obnoxiously tall package.

“I don’t ever want to be without you, Dan,” Phil said. He hadn’t planned to say it, just putting it out baldly like that, but maybe it had been building for a while, because the words were calm and unstuttered.

Dan blinked and then he blushed the most charming pink Phil had probably ever seen. His gaze dropped to the ground and he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I don’t want to be without you either, Phil.”

Something in Phil’s chest loosened and a grin spread across his face. “Well, that’s good news. Otherwise this was about to get really awkward.”

Dan burst out with a laugh and then he glanced back up, a mischievous glint in his eye. He snuck a look over at their families who, by that point, where probably pointedly keeping their backs turned. Then, he leaned in and hesitated just long enough to give Phil a chance to back away before he pressed their lips together in the sweetest and most satisfying kiss Phil had ever had. Dan’s lips were slightly chapped but warm and soft, and he tasted very faintly of vanilla lip balm. It was over too quickly and Phil pouted.

Dan laughed again, a relieved sound this time, and reached out to intertwine their fingers together. “Don’t give me that look. We’ll have more time later and, right now, there are impressionable children around. We don’t want to corrupt them.”

They returned to their families and Phil hugged his parents, greeted Dan’s family and accepted Martyn’s good-natured punch to the shoulder. Throughout it all, Dan stayed firmly at his side, until Mary, Paul, Mel and Sue exited the tent and called Phil, Louise and Mikayla out to the front.

Phil felt light enough to just float away as he lined up with Louise and Mikayla on either side of him. Louise reached out and grabbed his hand to give it a squeeze. She leaned in close to his ear and said, “Congratulations. I’m really happy that you two finally got your act together. I couldn’t stand any more of the unresolved sexual tension.”

Phil chuckled and linked hands with Mikayla so that they could put up a united front. The crowd fell silent and Sue began to speak.

“It has been a long ten weeks. We’ve had some truly spectacular bakes this year, as well as some stunning catastrophes but it’s all come down to these three bakers left standing.”

“Mary and Paul have reached a decision,” Mel said. “I am very happy to announce that this year’s winner of the Great British Bake Off is…”

Phil stopped breathing and time seemed to slow. It was like he could hear and feel every individual pump of his heart. A slight breeze ruffled his fringe into his eyes and then out again. His hands were shaking so he clutched harder to Louise and Mikayla to steady himself. He wanted to close his eyes but he didn’t want to miss anything. He didn’t want to forget a moment of this whole experience for as long as he lived.

“Phil.”

A cheer went up through the crowd, Dan’s voice rising higher and louder than all of them. Louise was bouncing up and down beside him, and Mary was approaching to hand him the glass cake stand he had won, but before she could reach him, a body ploughed into his back – Dan. His arms wrapped around Phil’s middle and squeezed so tight Phil thought he might burst. Somewhere, his mother was crying and then Paul was there to shake his hand and Mel and Sue were hugging him and Mary was kissing his cheek and, through it all, Dan’s voice in his ear, chanting his name.

What felt like a long time later, Dan’s hands were on his face. “Phil? Are you okay?”

He drew in a shuddering breath and then shook his head. “I don’t know.” He reached up and gently touched his cheeks. “Am I crying?”

Dan chuckled. “Kinda yeah, for the last five minutes or so.”

Phil groaned and dropped his face onto Dan’s shoulder. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry on camera.”

“You can do whatever you want on camera now, Philly. You won! I told you you would!”

He had won. Him. Phil Lester. There was a cake stand in his hands with the words “Great British Bake Off” engraved into the face. A production crew was lingering nearby so that he could do his piece to camera but he wasn’t ready to face them just yet.

“Would it be really cheesy,” Phil said, “if i said that it wouldn’t matter if I’d lost the competition because I already won because I’ve got you?”

Dan laughed. “Yes, very. But that’s okay. It’s supposed to be cheesy.”

Phil nodded. “Okay. Just so long as we’re on the same page.” The crew was getting antsy now, so Phil squeezed Dan’s hand and then pulled away slightly. “Wait here, okay? I won’t be long.”

“Take as long as you need to. I can honestly say that I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

**– End –**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil’s signature: [ Picnic basket pie](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/picnic_basket_pie_50454) (Ruby’s recipe, Season 4)  
> Technical: [ Pretzels](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/pretzels_71296) (Paul’s recipe)  
> Phil’s showstopper: [ Heaven and hell cake](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/tartarus_et_caeli_heaven_97253) (John’s recipe, Season 3)


End file.
